


The Golden Mean

by FernWithy



Series: Narrow Path [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 148,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FernWithy/pseuds/FernWithy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Katniss and Peeta deal with the Victory Tour and the Quarter Quell, Haymitch is preparing for a bigger battle.  (Catching Fire, Haymitch's point of view.  Violence warning for later chapters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  **Part One: Nightmares**

  
  
 **Chapter 1**  
There's a golden mean about drinking, somewhere between the place where it numbs you down enough to think through the nightmares and the place where you get too numb to think at all. Sometimes, I can find it for days in a row. Then the line moves without any warning, and I have to find it all over again.  
  
And sometimes, I don't care about it. Sometimes, I don't want to think. Sometimes it's better to just be numb. I stayed sober for weeks after the last Games. It didn't make any difference, and too many things started coming into my head.  
  
It takes a lot more liquor than it once did to make me numb, but what the hell? I can afford it.  
  
There is not enough liquor on the planet to deal with Effie Trinket today, not the way she is now.  
  
Frankly, if there's a good reason to drink, it's the way she is now. The bright, decent, pretty girl that came to my door almost sixteen years ago has been entirely buried under the painted up, hyperactive, strident robot that's standing there now, blinking in the morning sun and wrinkling her nose at the smell of my house. When I'm sober, I make up elaborate games of make believe, about how she's really still in there someplace, and I can still see her under the façade.   
  
I'm a little more honest with myself drunk.  
  
It's my fault. I know it's my fault. But that doesn't make it any easier to deal with her like this.  
  
" _Hay_ mitch!" she screeches, pushing her way into the kitchen without asking. "Oh, no, this won't do, we can't _film_ in here! It's a dis _as_ ter!"  
  
"I didn't invite anyone to film in here," I tell her, and reach for another bottle.  
  
She grabs it before I can and sweeps it out of the way. "There's been quite enough of that. We'll get you sobered up and do your interviews on the train. Obviously, we can't shoot them here." Her eyebrows draw together, an action which causes her nostrils to flare in order to balance it. "Really, Haymitch, you knew the reporters were coming. You _knew_ that. It's a Quarter Quell this year, and you're the only Quell victor we have."  
  
"Lucky me," I mutter. "But isn't this the Victory Tour? Shouldn't the cameras all be pointing at our happy little couple next door?"  
  
"We have to reintroduce you to the viewing public."  
  
"Oh, they remember me. You were the one who said they'd remember me, remember?"  
  
This causes a moment's confusion to cross her face. She has her own golden mean these days, and she's obviously been tending to it as diligently as I have.   
  
She shakes it off. "They remember you for groping me and passing out into the audience at the Reaping."  
  
"That's just you, sweetheart. Everyone else remembers that I mentored two tributes who both got out of the arena a few months ago. You're the one fixating on being groped."  
  
"They remember Peeta and Katniss winning. They'd have applauded anyone who walked out on that stage with them. If you show up on television looking like you just crawled out of a gutter and are looking for a way back in, they'll forget everything else." She purses her lips, then signals to Peeta's prep team. "See what you can do with him. I'll..." She looks around my kitchen distastefully. "I'll call ahead to the train and make sure there's a lot of coffee." She walks off, her heels clicking importantly, her hips swaying sharply side to side like a very attractive metronome. I watch her walking until she actually disappears into the kitchen to start her compulsive "straightening up."  
  
Claudia, Peeta's hair stylist, wrinkles her nose at my hair, then decisively marches us all upstairs to the bathroom, where she tells me to strip. I have not missed this about my own prep team. Walking around naked in front of judgmental strangers isn't one of the highlights of my life. I know that they're not going to let me alone, though, so I put up with it. I've spent the better part of the last twenty-five years as a public figure, but this year's going to be different. The kids are more popular than I ever was, but I'm their mentor, and that's going to mean being in front of the cameras to talk them up and tell everyone stories like I'm some irascible uncle. If Snow allows that much. It looks like Effie is assuming that he will.  
  
The skin guy, Sergius, starts scrubbing me down. There's another woman, too, Valentine. She's a medic, and I can see that she's got a syringe in a case. I know that syringe. I guess they've decided to add it to the Victory Tour festivities since my tenure. Maybe it's _because_ of my tenure. Anything's possible.  
  
"Don't even think about it," I tell her.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That shot? That's not happening. I'm not a horny seventeen year old, and no one's filming me _that_ closely. So you can keep your hormones in their needle."  
  
She gives me a frustrated look, and puts the case down. "Fine. It's not like you've needed it for a while. The booze seems to be working just fine for keeping you out of that kind of trouble these days."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
She shrugs. "It wasn't for you, anyway. It's empty. We came straight over from Peeta's."  
  
Sergius finally manages to brush off a layer of my skin, then dumps me unceremoniously into the bathtub. He starts fussing at my nails while Claudia washes my hair within an inch of its life.  
  
"Don't tell me," I say. "Time for a haircut?"  
  
"Just a little one," she says. "People like you rakish. We have to make you look like you don't bother with your hair."  
  
"That could be accomplished by not bothering with my hair," I try.  
  
"Not if we want to avoid turning the stomachs of the Capitol and most of the Districts. I bet they even wrinkle their noses out here."  
  
She's not wrong, but I don't confirm her guess. I've gotten used to wrinkled noses over the years.  
  
I give up and let the preps do their business. Valentine gets rid of the hormone syringe and comes back with some pills roughly the size of my thumbnails. "These'll get you sober enough to handle reporters," she says. "I'll see what else we can do for the rest of the tour."  
  
"I thought they decided I couldn't have my pills without a constant doctor's supervision. Did they change that to include a medic?"  
  
She shakes her head. "These aren't the neural blockers you used to be on. These are new, over the counter, for the party crowd. Instant de-tox. Almost instant, anyway. They absorb toxins already in your bloodstream to sober you up quickly. You could even drink with them. You just won't get drunk." She must see me looking a little disturbed, because she quickly adds, "They also have some of the same chemicals that your brain is looking for when you crave a drink, so you shouldn't go into withdrawal."   
  
I start to argue, but decide that it might not be a terrible idea. It's been hard finding the golden mean just lately, and this isn't a great time to get loose-lipped. It could get me in trouble, which doesn't bother me that much. It could also get Katniss and Peeta in trouble, and that does. "Fine," I grumble, and chew the chalky-tasting tablets.  
  
The bath is the longest I've had since I was a tribute myself. That first one was unpleasant. My own team scrubbed me nearly raw trying to get the coal dust out of every crevice in my body, some of it in places that weren't too comfortable for scrubbing. Later on, during interview prep, someone else took charge of my teeth, and pulled three of them, replacing them with false teeth that I still have. My mentor, Albinus Drake, looked at me like I was lower than dirt, even after the scrubbing. Of course, that year, Drake looked at everyone like dirt, though he thought Maysilee was particularly _attractive_ dirt.   
  
To add insult to injury, our stylist immediately decided to artfully re-apply the coal dust for the tribute parade. They've done this almost every year -- Effie's first year, the only way she could rescue the kids from being completely naked was by entirely covering them in the stuff -- and it's never struck me as anything other than stupid. Even in District Twelve, we've managed to master the art of washing our faces after work.  
  
Peeta's team finally finishes with me, leaving me naked in my bathroom while they scrounge for clean underwear outside. I wish them luck.  
  
Effie, as usual, saves the day. She has lived through fifteen of the last twenty-four Games with me -- no, sixteen; seventeen if I count the year she spent on the prep team -- and knows what to expect. She's probably the closest thing I have to an actual friend outside the circle of other victors, which only makes her more irritating on days like this, when it feels like someone has switched on an old subroutine that allows her to access the time when we were close, but doesn't actually let her feel it.  
  
She goes out to the car she came in and comes back with a garment bag and box full of new underwear. She hands all of it to me without comment, though she does give a disapproving look to my expanding waistline.  
  
"Who evaluates _you,_ sweetheart?" I ask.  
  
"The entire nation of Panem," she says. "I try to be prepared for it." With that, she swishes away, and I get dressed. The suit Effie brought has Cinna's label, but it's not one of his more remarkable pieces. Fits like a glove, though. I run my hands through the pockets for messages -- Finnick was supposed to send him something coded with a suit order -- but don't find anything.  
  
Effie comes in to inspect me. She doesn't look pleased, exactly, but she seems satisfied. "If I leave you alone for a few minutes, will you promise not to get drunk or wreck your clothes?"  
  
"If you promise not to send in the scrub-patrol again."  
  
"It's a deal," she says. "I'm going to go over to Katniss's and make sure she's not running late. I know she and Cinna get to talking!"  
  
It occurs to me to tell her to have Katniss lay it on thick with Peeta. I can trust him to sell their love for each other, even now when they've been frigid with each other for months, but she's a different story. She may need to be reminded about a few facts of life. The Capitol wants her in love with Peeta. No... they want her _infatuated_ with him. The way Katniss actually loves people will be of little interest to them, as it tends to be very practical. She'll be safe as long as she can sell it... and not just from the political fallout. As long as her great interest to the audience is her maudlin love for Peeta Mellark, they won't tolerate either of them suddenly being seen all over the Capitol with new lovers.  
  
Snow knows this. He can't spoil their image any more than she can without fanning the idea that she was making a political statement with those berries. I hope it gives him ulcers, thinking about all the deals he can't make. And if I even suspect that he's trying to find a way out of his dilemma, I'll assassinate him. I'm not sure when I made that decision, exactly, but I'll happily toss Plutarch's negotiations and schedules in the trash if I so much as smell Snow's cronies near either one of the kids. I'm pretty sure Finnick would back me up.  
  
The funny part about the whole charade is that I seriously doubt Katniss was making a political statement at all. She'll deny it until the end of the world these days, but I think she really did do it because there was no way on earth she was coming home without Peeta. She may not be one for mawkish displays, but if she doesn't genuinely love that boy, I'm a teetotaler.  
  
Of course, in the arena, even the act of genuinely loving someone is subversive. It means your loyalty to the Capitol is not absolute.  
  
"Haymitch?"  
  
I shake my head. Effie is from the Capitol and of the Capitol. As far as she's concerned, Katniss and Peeta are the love story of the century, and I doubt she'd even understand what I need to say. I'll just have to hope that Katniss remembers our conversation before the interviews. I wave it off.  
  
Effie sighs, then gets her coat and heads over to Katniss's place.  
  
I watch through my front window when Katniss and Peeta have their reunion. She manages to knock him into the snow, but it comes off as affectionate, and he manages to make the kiss look believable. She clings to him after she gets them up off the ground, and that actually makes it almost to sincerity.  
  
Once it's over, Effie comes to collect me, and all of us head to the train station in a row of cars. I sit in the first car with Katniss and Peeta, but of course I can't very well talk to them with a Capitol driver only a few inches away, not to mention the bugs that they don't even bother hiding. There will probably be footage of our car trip on the airwaves before we're on the train. If so, they'll get an eyeful of Katniss clinging frantically to Peeta. She is pale and shaken, but I can't ask why. He just looks confused, but he's Peeta; he responds to confusion by comforting her.  
  
"I can't wait to see the other districts with you," he says.  
  
She nods enthusiastically. "Yes. I've never been anywhere. Except the Capitol. Which was wonderful, of course!"  
  
We are spared more of her self-scripted disasters by arriving at the train station. We meet Effie, Cinna, and Portia on the platform (the preps are behind us, and won't appear on camera), and we make a great show of waving to the people in District Twelve. As it's the middle of a workday, most of the ones who show up are old, hungry, and miserable, but those tend to be the ones who love Katniss most, so they give her a warm farewell. Peeta's brothers and his mother leave their businesses long enough to wave. (Mirrem Mellark knows I will have her skin if she is ever anything less than warm and loving to Peeta from now on.) Ruth and Prim Everdeen get a lot of camera time as they say their farewells.  
  
Then we are on the train.  
  
I'll give the Capitol this: They know how to put on a meal. Nothing is spared, even on the commute. Katniss barely speaks while we eat, though whatever is bothering her doesn't seem to affect her appetite. Peeta speaks easily to everyone, asking them about places we're going to go, and if anyone has traveled to the districts before. I tell him what I can remember from my own tour (the parts fit for family consumption, anyway), though of course it would be stupid to mention other, less approved, trips that I've taken. The preps embellish with a number of bizarre rumors, and Effie gives facts and figures that might have crossed paths with reality at some point in the distant past.  
  
Effie decides the kids need sleep, so she calls a halt to the conversation and shuffles them off to bed, where I'm sure they'll both lie awake for a long time, putting off the nightmares. I don't know for sure about Peeta, but I know Katniss's are terrible. Ruth Everdeen has been over any number of times looking for advice, and looks miffed when I suggest liquor and a lot of it.  
  
I go back to my cabin, dump my suitcase, and put on something a little more friendly to sleeping than Cinna's suit. Then I set about serious drinking. Effie didn't have much out on the table for me to take, just a few bottles of incredibly sweet wine from District Eight, vile stuff that she knows I can't stand. I drink about half of one bottle, then manage to spill the rest on my shirt. I take a whiff, consider changing my shirt, then decide the fumes work as well as the wine. (Which is not very well, since all of it is fighting with the pills Valentine gave me earlier to sober me up, which work annoyingly well.) I am considering heading out to break into the bar car for something a little more serious when someone knocks on my door.  
  
I know perfectly well it's Katniss, and I know it's going to be about whatever's been bugging her. She'll be protecting everyone else from it, but she's apparently decided I don't need protection, which is kind of a relief most of the time (unlike anyone else in my life, Katniss seems to think I'm at least some variety of adult), but at the moment, I'd like to crawl into a bottle and not be disturbed.  
  
She knocks again.  
  
I could pretend to be passed out. She'd believe it. She might come in and dump something on me if she's desperate enough, but she'd believe it. I could pretend to be too drunk to follow whatever she wants to say. I could tell her not to bother me, for that matter.  
  
Another knock.  
  
Or I could answer the door. I feel a very unwelcome sense of sobriety falling hard on my shoulders as I pull the door open and ask her what she wants.  
  
She swoons, probably from the wine fumes, and whispers, "I have to talk to you."  
  
"Now? This better be good." She nods, but proceeds to say nothing at all. "Well?" I prod. As if in answer, the train shudders to a stop, most likely for re-fueling.  
  
She glances around nervously, and I remember that one underestimates Katniss Everdeen's intelligence at one's peril. Obviously, she's evaluating the likelihood of the whole train being bugged. She is probably right. She says, "The train is so stuffy."  
  
I sigh. If she's worrying about bugs, then it's way beyond her boy troubles or worries about the tour. We're going to need to get off the train. I make a show of stumbling toward a door at the end of the car and opening it, letting in a blast of cold air. I jump down, making sure to sway and stagger when a Capitol attendant comes running. Katniss, who is becoming an expert at playing along with other people's ruses, picks up on it right away, and says she'll take care of poor old drunken Haymitch, all we need is a little walk. And that's how we get off the train.  
  
"What?" I say again when we reach an area behind the trains, a bit further back than I think their microphones can pick up.  
  
"Snow was at my house this morning."  
  
I don't know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn't this. "Snow? As in President Snow?"  
  
She doesn't bother making a snide comment. She just nods and starts pacing. "He says there are districts about to rebel. He says it's my fault, because of the berries. I didn't mean to make anyone rebel, Haymitch!"  
  
I don't answer. I am more aware of the situation than she knows. Then again, apparently Snow is more aware of the situation than _I_ knew.  
  
She doesn't wait for an answer. "He says that he knows I was faking things with Peeta, but that I better make people believe it, because they can't think I was... I don't know! So they don't think I was trying to defy him or something. And people will die. A lot of people will die! I wasn't trying to start anything! I was so mad! It wasn't fair, what they did. If they hadn't changed the rules, I wouldn't have had to! But I said I'd convince everyone and he said I had to convince _him._ And he already doesn't believe me!"  
  
I rub my head. A part of me had thought it might actually not be difficult to get Katniss to rebel. She's certainly no fan of the Capitol. But Snow has hit the right tone with her. There's no getting around it: once the uprisings start in earnest, more people will die. "All right," I say. "You just need to keep it up. You're doing fine. As long as he doesn't have any reason to doubt --"  
  
"But he does." She rubs her head, and I realize with some wonder that she's picked the habit up from me over the last few months. I don't think I ever gave anyone else a habit before. "Haymitch, Gale Hawthorne kissed me."  
  
"And you let him?"  
  
"I was so surprised!"  
  
I almost laugh. Only Katniss would be surprised by this. I can't think of anyone in District Twelve, including Gale, who didn't assume they were a couple. Judging by her face, it never occurred to Katniss. Instead I say, "How long has this been going on?"  
  
"It was only the once. He says he loves me, but he doesn't do anything, we just hunt together. But Snow knows about it! I don't know how he knows. Has he bugged the forest?"  
  
"I don't know," I say, though I doubt it. There are always plenty of people willing to inform. And he could easily have bugged the mines, or Gale's house. I doubt Gale would have failed to mention it to anyone.  
  
"He said he doesn't have any compunctions about killing Gale if I don't make him believe that I love Peeta. He threatened Gale's whole family. Would he do that?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. That and more." In my head, I see Indigo Hardy, called Digger, left to fry on the district fence behind my house. My girl. My wife, as far as she was concerned. Maybe as far as I was concerned. It's my name on her gravestone, even though they wouldn't let me bury her with my family.   
  
There's no point in sharing this with Katniss. If Snow kills the Hawthornes, it will, without question, be poison. Possibly even nightlock, if he can find a way to do it. Just to keep the message clear.  
  
She searches my face for any sign that I'm just exaggerating, and must not find it, because she takes a deep, shaky breath. "I do love him, Haymitch. Maybe not that way, but I can't let anyone kill him. And it's not just that. It's everyone. People will die if I fail!"  
  
My last fantasy of introducing Katniss to Chaff and Finnick and the others -- or letting Cinna start dressing her like a rebel -- flies off into the snow. Oh, I could do it, and she'd probably go along with it. I think she's angry. But she's not ready, and I find that the only thing I want to do is keep her as safe as I possibly can. Maybe it's not the best thing for the rebellion. Okay, it's definitely not the best thing for the rebellion. They want to rally around her.  
  
But she rubs her head like I do, and she comes to me when she has a problem she can't handle alone. I am annoyed at myself that these things matter to me, but they do. Katniss Everdeen, who feels responsible for every human being in her vicinity, trusts _me_ to take care of her.  
  
I don't think she's going to much like the way I have to do it. Neither will the rest of the underground team, but they'll understand. At least Finnick will. He can convince the others. With a trident, if necessary.  
  
Because if the uprisings can't find something to rally around, there will be no revolution, and if there's no revolution, then Katniss will have to have a defense against Snow's intentions for her. Peeta is that defense, just as she's his.  
  
"Then you can't fail," I say.  
  
"If you could just help me get through this trip --"  
  
I shake my head. This will keep her safe, but it will destroy her. "No, Katniss, it's not just this trip."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
I tell her. I hate the way she pales, and seems to shrink with every word. But she has to know. She has to understand that Snow will never let her out of his sight. He will never decide she can just choose her own life. If she's ever going to be safe, she needs to understand that she has to stay with Peeta. For good.  
  
We walk back to the train together. I can almost see the knowledge settling onto her like a physical weight, pushing her shoulders down, making her steps sink deeper into the snow. As we get to her compartment, I pat her shoulder, and, unable to think of anything else to say, tell her, "You could do a lot worse, you know."  
  
It's weak, and she doesn't bother to pretend otherwise. She knows Peeta is a good man, and if she's going to be trapped into a life with someone, at least it's someone she loves. As far as I'm concerned, the most damnable thing about it is that, left to her own devices, she'd have picked him anyway. But now he'll never be anything but a prison for her.  
  
She goes into her room, where I doubt she'll sleep. I go to mine. I grab my knife and go to bed. I realize that nothing I can kill with a knife is going to come after me these days, but it sometimes helps with the nightmares.  
  
This isn't one of those times.  
  
I find myself back by the mines, by the little shack (it was only very generously called a house by any standard) where I lived with my mother and brother. Dad died from miner's cough, and Mom was on her way to it when the house collapsed on her. In my dream, she is coughing blood into an old pillow. Her face is streaked with coal dust. My brother Lacklen is squinting at me from the shadows. He had bad eyes, and I almost tell him that, now that I'm rich, I can get him glasses, better ones than Caesar sent him during the Games. But of course, he's been dead for going on twenty-five years. I don't think he cares.  
  
The shack collapses around me, and Mom and Lacklen crumble to dust inside. The cloud of it rises around me, and swirls into Digger Hardy, who is dressed in Katniss's pajamas.  
  
Great.  
  
"I was just thinking about you," I say.  
  
"Been a while, hasn't it?" she asks acidly. It's a tone unlike any she ever used with me in life, where she was generally patient with me. Sometimes exasperated, I guess, but patient. Kind.   
  
Now, she seems to be insane. Maybe I would be insane, too, if my finger had come off of my hand like the wing from a well-cooked chicken. Maybe I _am_ insane, having been the one to accidentally pull it off. I look down at my hand and see it there.  
  
"I don't like thinking about what happened," I say.  
  
"I've been right here. Waiting for you like always."  
  
"Digger--"  
  
"I'll always be right here." Her skin starts to blacken and melt, her hair to burn. When we took her off the fence, we had to cut the wires because she had melted around them. She reaches out with a smoking hand, missing its little finger. "I'm right here, Haymitch! You can't do anything about it. Right here! Right --"  
  
I wake up with a start, my knife clattering to the floor. There's a gray dawn outside the train window, and the snow has turned to a depressing rain. I can hear Katniss's prep team grumbling as Effie pulls them out of bed. I pull the shade and crawl back under the covers.  
  
I don't sleep again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Victory Tour train, Haymitch deals with reporters, Effie, and news from the districts before they arrive at District Eleven, where he realizes there's something he forgot to deal with.

**Chapter 2**  
I stay in my compartment for most of the morning. Effie comes in and cleans up without comment, then sends Peeta's preps in to clean me up. I'm not particularly surprised that this is followed by a visit from a small crew of reporters. They stay in another part of the train, but I skipped them yesterday, and I guess I know I can't avoid them forever.  
  
At first, the questions are about Katniss and Peeta -- what's it like having neighbors again, are we close after the Games... the same sort of empty nonsense the Capitol always wants to know about victors. I tell them that the Victors' Village is getting crowded, and imply strongly that they annoy me by mauling each other at every available moment. They want to know if having the kids around has "helped me" -- by which they mean "sobered me up" -- and I answer truthfully that I couldn't have done it without them. That this is of less than twenty-four hours duration and more specifically because of Peeta's prep medic and her little bag of tricks goes unmentioned.  
  
"Do they make you think about having kids of your own?" a giggly reporter asks.  
  
"Those two? They make me think about getting sterilized."  
  
This gets a laugh. "Is there a special someone?" a young man who is clearly auditioning to be the next Caesar Flickerman asks.  
  
"Why ask that?" I say. "I'm saving myself for Effie Trinket, you know that. I read it in the paper just last month." I slap my forehead. "No, wait, wrong girl. It was Jo Mason, wasn't it?"  
  
This is greeted with absolute _shrieks_ of laughter, which drill into my poor alcohol-deprived brain like ice picks. A few of them shout out the names of three or four other women and two men I'm allegedly in love with according to various sources. What a great joke we all have together. Imagine how we'd all laugh if they realized that the only people to see me naked in the last twenty years have been Effie, a few prep teams, and an occasional tailor. Or that the last woman who was in my arms was Ruth Everdeen, who needed a hug after worrying herself to death about Katniss's nightmares. Or that I once really might have loved Effie, but I still made her cry when she gave me a spontaneous kiss and I laughed at her. It'd be a real hoot.  
  
I fantasize about getting my knife and starting to cut. Instead, I force a smile. Barring a string of very unlikely occurrences, there will be another pair of tributes next summer, and this time, they'll be counting on another miracle. They'll need a mentor who the sponsors still like. The reporters can help with that, but they probably won't if I start killing their colleagues.  
  
And I guess I wouldn't do it anyway. With the exception of Annie Cresta and Peeta, all of the victors talk a good game about doing violence to our enemies, but so far, no victor has ever committed murder outside the arena. That may be more good luck than good management, since murder is exactly what they trained us for, but the good luck is holding.  
  
When the question comes, I've almost forgotten its inevitability. It comes from the back of the room, from a laughing young woman with hair that's been painted a glow-in-the-dark shade of purple. "So, the third Quarter Quell is coming," she says perkily. "What do you think the twist will be this year?"  
  
Without any warning, my mind drags me back to this train, twenty-five years ago, the four of us seeking out common areas, knowing that at least three of us would die. Maysilee was my friend, but Beech and Gilla were Seam kids, like me. And Gia, trying to lift us up out of despair enough so that we'd have a chance. She was alone with us on that train, and Maysilee taunted her. She was sorry about it later, but she did it. Then she sat with me and made the district token I wore -- the one Effie still carries -- knotting the length of rope from Digger's dress. I guess I was the only one she knew, because I was the only one in her classes.  
  
Gilla and Beech, like most of my neighbors, thought I was putting on airs, taking literature and history and other things which were of no use in the mines or in the everyday hunt for food and money. A pretty girl named Hazelle Purdy -- these days, Hazelle Hawthorne -- once found a poem I wrote for homework and read it out loud in the cafeteria, in an exaggerated Capitol accent. My neighbors laughed and pointed at me. Digger was an exception to this. She got a kick out of it when I told her about books I was reading and clapped wildly when I recited a poem, though she laughed at the thought of taking such classes herself.  
  
In the end, we all stayed together, though. When you're hurtling toward death at two hundred miles an hour, the Seam and town don't seem as far apart as usual.  
  
"Haymitch?" the reporter prods. "What do you think about the Quell?"  
  
"No idea," I say. "Could be anything." In fact, I think it will be whatever will be most politically useful to Snow. Turning in malcontents' children, to remind the Districts that they need to police themselves, strikes me as probable, but I don't want to give Snow any ideas that he hasn't thought of yet.  
  
"Do you have any advice for Quell tributes?"  
  
I shrug. "Same advice I gave Peeta and Katniss: Stay alive."  
  
They laugh merrily, apparently convinced that I personally directed their every move in the arena. Except, of course, for the only part of their lives in the arena that I _did_ direct -- the mythic romance that's currently making their lives hell. There are a few more soft questions, and one that I expect was meant to be soft ("Do you ever think about your old ally, Maysilee Donner?"), then Effie rescues me promptly at eleven-thirty, which is apparently when her schedule dictated that I be rescued. She claps her hands sharply and sends my inquisitors away.  
  
"It's time for lunch!" she says brightly. "Peeta's up and about finally, and Katniss should be finished with her prep soon."  
  
I am not hungry and have had enough company, but I guess it's likely that Cinna and Portia will be there, and who knows what they've been hearing lately? Not that we can talk about it on the train.  
  
I go to lunch.  
  
The conversation is about as stupid as it's possible to get. The Capitol contingent is in raptures about how easy it is to sleep on the train, and how healthy "country air" is. (Neither Peeta nor I bring up the fact that in District Twelve, they probably breathed in more pollution than they would in three years in the Capitol. There's a reason the coal dust gets everywhere, including into people's lungs.) Peeta plays along smoothly, but judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he slept about as easily as I did. When Katniss gets in, she looks worse than either of us, despite several hours with her preps. She's clean and hairless, and has make-up on to cover whatever dark circles she might have, but her shoulders are tense and her mouth is drawn up tightly. She barely touches a bowl of plain broth.  
  
I don't bother trying to bring her into the conversation -- I know what's bothering her -- but everyone else tries something. Cinna offers to show her the dresses he's made, and Portia is enthusiastic about this. Effie asks about her talent. Peeta offers her food. She gives one-syllable answers and continues picking at her soup.  
  
There's a flash in the lighting, then the train glides to a stop. An attendant comes in. I know him from a few unapproved trips on less fancy trains. He's the cousin of Berenice Morrow, from District Six, and he has been known to let her ride the rails to no destination, just because she's bored. That she has occasionally picked up a guest in District Twelve and hidden him in a coal bin is a much less open secret. Six is probably my least favorite place to visit, but it's definitely the most useful ally we have for our meetings.  
  
I don't know his name. Berenice is usually a little too addled on morphling to bother with niceties like introductions. She tried to share the stuff with me once, but given the way the alcohol tends to stop working after a few months, I figure even on a victors' salary, I couldn't afford to start in on morphling. I don't know where she gets it, and don't want to.  
  
At any rate, her cousin tells us that some bit of the train's engine has worn through, and it will take at least an hour to repair it. I wonder briefly if this is some arrangement to pass information, but, as all of the people likely to be fed information look as surprised as I feel, I guess it's just a mechanical thing.  
  
"Oh, no!" Effie says, throwing her hands in the air like we've reached the edge of the world and are about to go hurtling off. "Oh, dear! If we're an hour late getting into the station in Eleven, then we could run into problems with our connecting transportation, and if we're _too_ late, they may have to put it off until tomorrow, which will throw off the scheduling in Ten -- "  
  
She continues in this vein, fluttering through her papers. I can see Peeta reaching out tentatively, and Portia is giving her shoulders a comforting pat. I glance at Katniss, who is gripping her spoon like she might launch it at Effie's head. Her shoulders are shaking.  
  
She stands up abruptly and shouts, "No one cares, Effie!" She glares around the compartment, then says, "Well, no one does!" She shoves her chair aside and storms out. A minute later, the train's alarm system goes off.  
  
Effie looks more surprised than hurt (if I didn't know better these days, I'd think she actually looked concerned), so I don't yell for Katniss to come back and apologize.  
  
"She's gone off the train," Cinna says.  
  
I look out the window. I can see her braid swinging against the back of her shirt. "She's not going anywhere," I say. "Let her get the steam out of her head."  
  
Of course, it can't be that simple, not on a Capitol train, as Effie reminds me. "Haymitch, you know she's not allowed to wander out here without permission. It's dangerous! There could be raiders!"  
  
The alarm is thundering in my head, and I can't think of a single thing that will make Katniss feel even a little bit better. I rub my head. "Fine. I'll get her."  
  
Peeta stands up. "No," he says. "I will. I think we need to talk anyway."  
  
He heads out. I see the top of his head as he passes by the window, following her. I hope she's not crazy enough to tell him what she told me last night. Peeta's a great performer, but reminders that she may not have been entirely sincere in the arena make him angry, and he doesn't need to start being angry again.  
  
"It's not any more permitted for Peeta to be out there," Effie says.  
  
"Anyone else will have to drag her back," Cinna says. "Peeta will get her calmed down. You all right, Effie?"  
  
"I just want to keep us on schedule."  
  
"Everyone knows you can't control a train," Portia says. "No one will blame you."  
  
There's an awkward silence, then Cinna stands up. "Well, as long as we're stopped -- Haymitch, why don't you come down to the wardrobe car? I want to run a few of the outfits by you, anyway."  
  
Since there's no need at all for a stylist to consult with a mentor on costumes, not anymore, I assume he has something else in mind, so I follow him a few cars up the train to the large car lined with dress racks. He goes to one of them at random and pulls out a gold dress. "I think this one will be great with her skin. It's a little fragile --" Suddenly, he tears the sleeve off of it. "Damn, I need to fix that. Can you get me the sewing box by the door?" He sits down at a sewing table and I get him the box. He takes out a small, hand-held sewing machine and turns it on.  
  
It makes no noise at all.  
  
"I really will need to fix this later," he says. "But for now, the Capitol is hearing the hum of a sewing machine and nothing else. Beetee sent it to me as a prototype hand sewing machine to test. We can trust it for about five minutes before they get suspicious."  
  
"What's the word from Finnick?"  
  
"Four's on the edge of an uprising. Katniss's bird is showing up everywhere. Mags is meeting quietly with a few of the more prominent fishing families. Finnick knows some of the ships' captains, mostly through Annie. They've been itching for payback since she came back... the way she came back."  
  
"And the others?"  
  
"Beetee doesn't think Three's going to blow any time soon, though he's working on it. Too beat down, and they did get hit hard in the last rebellion. But Eight's ripe. The Peacekeepers are cleaning up mockingjay graffiti every day."  
  
"Snow visited Katniss and told her she's responsible for any violence that happens. She's not happy."  
  
"He did _what?_ "  
  
I tell him briefly. He grimaces. He is even more devoted than most to the idea of Katniss as a symbol of the rebellion. She inspired him to do more than pass messages in the Capitol and design powerful costumes. Before Katniss pulled out those berries, Cinna was mainly a provocateur. For the past few months, he's been a soldier, on the belief that if she was brave enough to face down the entire might of the Capitol, he could be brave enough to take more than symbolic action. With his brand at a high recognition point, he can get nearly anything to nearly anyone, if he disguises it in the clothes. No one questions why victors are suddenly buying Cinna's clothes. So far, no one has suspected that he's coding information into the seams, or that Jack and Johanna rip out the hems on their clothes to empty out the explosive powders he sends. More importantly, he's able to get information chips from Beetee that he orders as lighting elements, and they've gone out to Four, Six, and Eight. Six in particular is useful, since they control so much of the transportation.  
  
Cinna shakes his head, and goes back to talking about District Eight. "Cecelia's husband is working through the factories. It's noisy enough that they don't need any cover-up. Plutarch says there are other people waiting to help, but they're not ready for the big one yet."  
  
"Other people? What other people?"  
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  
  
I sigh. "Thirteen. He's really contacted them?"  
  
"You knew?"  
  
"That they were there, and Plutarch wanted them on board? Yeah. He and Fulvia were hinting at it pretty heavily last year. That it's gotten far enough that we need to control the rebellion? News to me."  
  
"They're prepping for the war as we speak. At least according to Plutarch. He wants to make some kind of statement during the Quell." Cinna checks his watch and apparently decides we've been invisible long enough. He flips a switch on Beetee's sewing machine, and says, "I still think we should match you somehow. Gold tie, maybe?"  
  
"Matching's for the kids," I say. "They have their thing, I have mine."  
  
He stands up. "Have you seen Katniss's talent?"  
  
"No, but I hear she's prodigiously brilliant."  
  
He laughs, and heads toward the cars where Peeta's paintings and "Katniss's" clothing designs are stored. We go through Peeta's talent car, where we're confronted with pictures of the arena so real that I almost duck a knife being thrown by Clove. "He's extraordinarily talented," Cinna says, without the edge in his voice that tells me he's covering for something. "If he had Capitol citizenship, they'd give him scholarships to the best schools." He stops. "Of course, that's the whole problem. No way for him to get into any of them, no matter how talented he is. Ever since they stopped the district scholarship program -- not that one slot a year was ever enough -- the art schools are barred, even for victors. The best he could do is one of the private tutors, and most of them aren't nearly as good as he is."  
  
I start to argue that there are bigger problems than having no one to teach Peeta about mixing paints, but I know that Cinna's right. My daddy pulled himself up from his deathbed to try and force the town to let me take "fancy" classes, because it was my right. It seems silly from a distance sometimes, but I know better. Not all injustices are as huge as the Games, but they're still injustices.  
  
We cross into Katniss's talent car, where several designs obviously by Cinna are artfully put around, along with sketches that Katniss would never have been able to do. The absurdity of forcing the victor into some kind of unwanted leisure activity strikes me, but then, it always has. I managed to get around displaying my talent by spending the four months after the Games writing a book of poetry that criticized the Capitol on every page. I dedicated it to Digger, and the first poem in it was a gory description of pulling her half-melted body off the fence.  
  
Gia Pepper hid it, of course. In public, after she got caught faking a talent for me, she laughed and nervously told the cameras that I still hadn't discovered the great passion of my life. Every now and then, people jokingly ask me when I plan to find a talent, and I tell them that I'm talentless, and we leave it at that. Gia gave the poetry book to Plutarch, who swears it's still in underground circulation. I'll believe it when I hear something about it.  
  
We are about to leave when we hear Katniss and Peeta come in together. I look through the doors and see that they are holding hands as he shows her his paintings. She seems horrified, but he's not taking it personally. I'm just glad to see that they're not freezing each other out. The train starts again, throwing all of us off balance, and Katniss and Peeta head out of the painting car. Cinna wants to spend more time looking at Peeta's paintings himself, so I leave him to it and go back to the dining car, where Effie has finally recovered from the shock of being yelled at. "The poor dear is just nervous," she says. "She understands that we need to keep a schedule."  
  
I go back to my own compartment and settle in. I’m vaguely aware that Katniss and Peeta have become inseparable now, and are watching the rest of our trip from the caboose. I wonder what they said to each other. It must be better than whatever she said the last time I let them walk off the train. Maybe he did the talking. Valentine feeds me more sobriety pills as we get closer to District Eleven, and I wish she'd stop. If there's any place where a little liquid courage is needed, it's Eleven.  
  
Of course, if there's any place where I need to make sure I'm in control these days, it's Eleven. It's annoying how often those two things coincide. Seeder's barely been able to control the popular anger since Rue died, and Chaff has his hands full trying to control the people who are supposed to be our allies.  
  
I watch through the narrow window of my compartment as we pass under the prison wall that passes for a fence here. Chaff says that they don't even bother with pretty stories about keeping predators out. It's about keeping the labor force in.  
  
There are no stops for the train before they get to the main town in District Eleven. "Main town" isn't saying much -- people in Eleven are scattered around whatever fields and orchards they work in, with little collections of shacks serving as villages. Almost no one lives in the main town except for Chaff and Seeder (secluded in the Victors' Village), a handful of Capitol-appointed bureaucrats, and people who weigh and price the harvest before sending it off. Other than that, people will have needed to apply to be bused in for today's festivities. I doubt anyone rebellious will be allowed, which will at least keep it quiet.  
  
Effie shows up and tells me to get dressed, handing me a suit from Cinna. I check the pockets, though there's no reason to believe Cinna will have gotten a message in the last three hours, let alone one that couldn't come directly to me. The pockets are empty, and I wonder why I've gotten nothing from Chaff, or even Seeder. They most likely won't be at the dinner tonight -- Snow's paranoia is at a high point, and I don't expect the kids to see much of any of the other victors -- but I was expecting _something_ before our arrival. Even just a message saying, "All quiet" or "Watch out" or "Step careful." Nothing. I am worried.  
  
We finally pull into the bedraggled little train station. In my few clandestine trips here, this is where I've rolled out of a coal bin and gone to hide behind the building. Today, I just go outside with Effie, the stylists, the preps, and the kids. We are greeted by eight Peacekeepers, who shove us into the back of a military truck and lock the door. Effie is shocked. I'm not.  
  
We barely make it in time to meet Effie's schedule (though, really, what would they have done if we'd been late -- gone on without us?). They drop us off at the back of the justice building, and we are all but pushed inside. Katniss and Peeta get quick instructions to smile, and are shoved out onto the Verandah. The rest of us are sent to watch on a big screen under the rotunda.  
  
My mentor, Drake, didn't come with me on the tour. It took us some time to get to like one another, though my stop in District Two was the beginning of what turned out to be a decent friendship. But they were careful to show me that my stylist and preps were there, waiting nervously, along with Gia Pepper, who I was half in love with (or thought I was) after she helped me through my family's deaths. They were there to make sure I didn't say anything foolish (or, in the worst case scenario, recite one of my poems from memory).   
  
I was given enough time before going outside to know that guns had been pointed at them. I didn't do anything stupid. All I remember about District Eleven was how hot it seemed that day, and how I wished Chaff and Seeder were up here with me. They looked out for me in the Capitol when I woke up, and I felt like I could trust them. I didn't remember if I'd killed any of the tributes here. I didn't think so, and it turned out later that I didn’t, but standing there looking at those four families, not even knowing if I had the blood of their children on my hands, I could barely get out the speech they wanted me to give.  
  
It got easier after that. I asked Gia for the kill list, so I'd know who I was talking about in every district.  
  
"Is Katniss going to add any special comments?" Effie asks. "I looked over Peeta's notes, and they seem fine, but Katniss didn't have anything written. Do you know? I thought she might say something about Rue."  
  
My heart sinks. With all the business about Peeta, I forgot totally about Rue and Thresh, and all the ways Katniss could mis-navigate the situation here in Eleven. It's just as well she didn't write anything -- the girl can't follow a script -- but I should have asked. Or warned her that loving Rue wasn't any less subversive, as far as the Capitol is concerned, than loving Peeta is, at least in Katniss's sense of loving. Putting anyone ahead of the Capitol's interests is treason, as far as Snow is concerned.  
  
And it's not time for public treason yet.  
  
So I watch with a growing sense of dread as the mayor of District Eleven introduces them, and the camera focuses for a moment on Rue's family and Thresh's. (Rue's family gives me another sinking feeling. Her sisters look just like her. Katniss will not be able to miss that.) But, thankfully, Peeta steps up to talk. I step back in relief as he gives a perfectly standard speech, thanking Rue and Thresh for saving Katniss's life and, indirectly, his. He makes it sound heartfelt and real.  
  
I am about to relax completely when Peeta Mellark, the most reliable performer I've seen from any district in any year, goes off script.  
  
"It can in no way replace your losses," he says, "but as a token of our thanks, we'd like for each of the tributes' families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives."  
  
Effie squeals with glee. This will, in fact, play well with the Capitol audience... but it's illegal, it's a subversion of the Capitol's goal in the Games (which is, among other things, to pit the districts against each other), and it's a public demand that Snow will detest. With Eleven already on the edge of an uprising, the idea that they have allies out there, especially charismatic allies like Peeta and Katniss, won't be tolerated.  
  
I look at Cinna, who has gone completely pale. He knows, too.  
  
On stage, it obviously hasn't occurred to Katniss, who gives Peeta the first absolutely sincere kiss I've seen out of her.  
  
Maybe it can still be salvaged. As long as nothing else happens, maybe. Snow can say that, however generous Peeta is, it's unfortunately not something there's a mechanism for, and isn't it just like those nice lovebirds to want to make such an offer? Peeta will get some kind of warning. I hope it won't be anyone dead. But _maybe_ they can get out of this without Rue's family's house collapsing.  
  
The mayor presents them with flowers and the plaque (I still have no idea what we're supposed to do with the damned plaques), and I am ready to think that we may have squeaked through after all when Katniss starts biting her lip. I look to a side screen, where they're waiting for good crowd shots, and see one of Rue's sisters glaring at her.  
  
I want to go out and physically pull her off the stage.  
  
I probably wouldn't have gotten there in time anyway.  
  
"Wait!" she cries. "Wait, please!"  
  
What comes next is the most appealing moment I've ever seen from Katniss. She speaks about Thresh, and my stomach turns a lazy somersault when she congratulates him on not playing by the Careers' rules. Then she speaks about Rue, her love for the little girl as sincere as the kiss she gave Peeta. If I didn't know the situation in Eleven, if Peeta hadn't already put the Capitol on high alert, I'd clap her on the shoulder and tell her she was brilliant.  
  
But I know what comes next.  
  
I know it because I see Chaff and Seeder moving through the crowd, tapping the shoulders of people who are ignoring them entirely.  
  
And I see an old man whistle Rue's song.  
  
Simultaneously, the people in the crowd raise their right hands and give Katniss the salute she gave Rue's body.  
  
On screen, I can see Katniss's face. She knows. She understands.  
  
She and Peeta are led back inside, but she turns suddenly at the door and heads back.  
  
That's when I hear the gunshots.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In District Eleven, Haymitch deals with the fallout of the actions on the Verandah, and in District Eight, there are people who want to see Peeta.

**Chapter Three**  
"It's gunfire," I whisper. I look across at the screen and see nothing but static. I haven't really been watching since the first bunch raised their hands, just picking up what I could see through the door.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Effie says, looking mildly curious and very confused. It's better for her to stay confused. She has any number of irritating traits and her priorities are severely skewed, but she doesn't need to be in line for interrogation if we're pulled in. She doesn't know anything, and no matter how irritating she is, she doesn't deserve to be tortured.  
  
Cinna looks toward the door anxiously. "Katniss..."  
  
I don't have a chance to imagine that Katniss has been assassinated, though a few more seconds would have done it. Peeta pulls her inside, saying, "We get it, all right! Come on, Katniss." Outside, I see a wall of white uniforms forming in front of the door.  
  
Effie hurries over to Katniss and Peeta and asks them what happened. The fact that she didn't notice anything amiss after Katniss finished her speech -- and the feed was definitely still on when the old man whistled -- tells me that my hunch is right, that in the Capitol, the people are entirely in the dark about what's happening in the districts. They're probably in awe of the sentiment of recalling Rue, and it never crosses their minds that Rue's death made her family and friends angry.  
  
Somehow, Katniss picks up that Effie isn't to know (another thing I probably should have mentioned to her, but I didn't expect a demonstration this soon), and tells her that there was truck backfire. The "truck" backfires twice more. I think of Seeder and Chaff, moving through the crowd outside.  
  
I raise my voice. "Both of you. With me."  
  
I take them upstairs, ostensibly to get them to their prep room, but I don't stop there any longer than it takes to drop their things off. Chaff has sat on the council in Eleven, and has a key to the Justice Building. When I've come here before, he's let us in. The building is mostly under surveillance, but the top of the rotunda is generally clear. It's a roundabout route through the decaying old manse and it's been six years since my last trip here, but I remember it well enough. I sometimes think my life would be a lot easier if I didn't remember as well as I do. I reach the trap door and shoo them through, then climb up after them and close it.  
  
"What happened?" I ask them.  
  
Most of what Peeta tells me, I saw. Apparently, he and Katniss went back because she forgot her flowers, and they saw the old man who whistled being dragged up onto the Verandah and shot. "What's going on, Haymitch?" he asks.  
  
I need time to think. If Thirteen were ready, if Plutarch weren't stalling to make a statement during the Quell, if Beetee already had control of the airwaves, I'd tell them everything. But none of those things is true, and I can't afford for Katniss to fly off the handle any more than she already has, and, if I'm going to be honest, I'm not entirely sure where Peeta would stand, and I don't trust his family at all. His father was one of us, but he's also convinced that this is what got Peeta Reaped in the first place (possibly Prim as well, if the Capitol believed some scurrilous local rumors). His mother... the less said the better. I buy time by asking Katniss to explain everything, at least as she understands it.  
  
It's not that I think either of them would consciously betray us. Katniss hates the Capitol as much as any Rebel, and Peeta is outraged at injustice in general. But they're young, they're idealistic, and young and idealistic people tend to make stupid mistakes that we can't afford.  
  
Like giving a month's winnings to a rival district.  
  
Peeta understands this at least. "Then I made things worse, too," he says as Katniss finishes. "By giving the money."  
  
I'm about to try and make him feel better -- I'm not totally heartless, I guess, at least not when it comes to these two -- but then he sends a lamp across the room. He just swipes it off a table and sends it shattering to the floor. I'm too astounded to come up with anything. I've seen his father throw things, and I've seen his mother take swings at people, but somehow, it never occurred to me that steady, reliable Peeta _really_ came from that house in any meaningful sense.  
  
"This has to stop," he says. "Right now. This... this... game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I'm too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them."  
  
I rub my head. Exhibit one about young idealists. It's always about them, when it's not.  
  
His next point, however, is more sensible--he does have family and friends in District Twelve, and even if he's not in on things, Snow will assume it and kill them just as dead as anyone else. I try to calm him down by suggesting that it's just because Katniss isn't as good as he is on camera--which is very true--but he's not buying it, and he's probably right not to buy it.  
  
"Well, you overestimated me," he says. "Because I really screwed up today. What do you think is going to happen to Rue's and Thresh's families? Do you think they'll get their share of our winnings? Do you think I gave them a bright future? Because I think they'll be lucky if they survive the day!" He grabs a bust of some old general, probably older than Panem, and shatters it against the wall. If he doesn't calm down, they're going to find us up here.  
  
"He's right, Haymitch," Katniss says, and I can hear the death of the rebellion this. "We were wrong not to tell him. Even back in the Capitol."  
  
Perfect. Just perfect. Katniss thinks she knows everything, which was the danger of her knowing anything. And now, they're re-hashing the arena. _Now_. Peeta could have chosen any moment in the last several months to get it off his chest that he was angry at me for not sending anything. But he chooses _now_. In the middle of District Eleven, surrounded by Peacekeepers and cameras.  
  
Yeah. These are the kids we're pinning the whole rebellion on.  
  
We're bastards.  
  
I'm ready to remind him that he's the one who wanted all the sponsor gifts to go to Katniss, but he beats me to it. "I know you had to choose one of us, and I'd have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we're very good." He has a point, though I'm annoyed enough that I'm tempted to remind him that people were dead in the arena, too, some because sponsor chose to give their money to me instead of another mentor. But he surprises me again by visibly calming himself. He's still angry, but he takes a deep breath, and says something more practical than I'd have given him credit for: "We all know I'm better than Katniss in front of the cameras. No one needs to coach me on what to say. But I have to know what I'm walking into."  
  
"From now on, you'll be fully informed," I say. This is flatly a lie -- it's too dangerous for either of them to know all of what's going on -- but he'll certainly know as much as Katniss does. For one thing, he's right. He's good, but he needs to know the endgame of what he's saying if it's going to turn things in the right direction. For another, she's not going to know as much as I planned on telling her.  
  
He storms off.  
  
Katniss stays. She crosses her arms and looks down at her pin. "Did you choose me, Haymitch?" she asks.  
  
I shrug. "Yeah."  
  
"Why? You like him better."  
  
At the moment, I'm irritated with both of them, but none of it is their fault. And the whole question of who I like better seems so trivial (and frankly, weird) that I just go with it. Besides, this summer, Katniss will have to make choices of her own. Not just the one Snow is forcing her to make about her own life, but ones that the Games will force her to make about someone else's life.  
  
"Come on," I say, when there's nothing left to be said. "We have a dinner to attend."  
  
We go downstairs. I have a feeling I won't be able to use the rotunda again. Katniss goes to her shower, and I go to the room next door, where Peeta is supposed to be getting ready. Instead, he's peering out the window, trying to see what's happening.  
  
"Don't yell at Katniss," I tell him.  
  
He turns. "What?"  
  
"It's not her fault. She's doing what I told her. Be mad at me."  
  
"Oh, I'm mad at you."  
  
"Good. But you know... Katniss is out on a ledge. Don't push her off it. I know you've got people, too, but she's the one Snow threatened face to face."  
  
He looks argumentative, but finally nods. "All right. I know, all right? And don't think I don't know there's more you're not telling either one of us."  
  
I don't say anything.  
  
Peeta shakes his head. "Just tell me one thing, Haymitch. Is it important enough?"  
  
"Yeah. It's important enough."  
  
"Okay. But warn me if I'm in a minefield."  
  
I nod and go on to my prep room. I don't get the full treatment this time; apparently "rakish" takes less work than looking young and beautiful. I just put on my suit and go out to the main sitting room. Cinna and Portia are going over Katniss and Peeta's costumes while their prep teams fret at the preliminary work. I drift by and say, "Any word?" I point vaguely at the costumes, like my question might have something to do with them. I have no idea what.  
  
Cinna straightens the pink dress he's working on and says, "We need to take it in one inch, but I was afraid of three. One's not good, but three would be worse."  
  
I have no idea how to code a question about what the other two gunshots did, if they didn't kill anyone, so I just look briefly at Peeta's suit and compliment Portia on her proportions. I might go on with this nonsensical conversation forever, but a door slams above, and I look up to see Effie Trinket stumbling toward a railing, rubbing her shoulder. "I'm a representative of the Capitol!" she shouts at the closed door. "You can't treat me like that!"  
  
 _Welcome to District Eleven_ , I think, but don't say. "You all right, Effie?" I call.  
  
She comes down the spiral staircase to where we are and says, "I just don't care for this place." Her face lights up when she sees Cinna's dress. "Oh, my, Katniss will be stunning in that! Make sure she smiles."  
  
Cinna and Portia go to deliver the clothes.  
  
Effie sits down, tense, on a velvet couch that was probably luxurious before the moths got to it. "I don't understand how they can treat us like this," she says. "Haymitch, you have to do something."  
  
"Sweetheart, if a Capitol pedigree doesn't help you, a drunk victor from District Twelve isn't going to have much to offer."  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you to stop saying nasty things about yourself?"  
  
"Is that your job these days?"  
  
She nods primly, and I smile. I don't like her much, but what the hell, maybe she _is_ my friend.  
  
Everyone comes down a few minutes later, and Katniss wins her way back into my good books by somehow beating Peeta to the punch on calming Effie down, by treating her problem like it's the most important thing in the world. Peeta smiles at her. She smiles back tentatively.  
  
Effie arranges us for the procession to enter. She puts herself behind the prep teams, second to least in importance, which is endearing. I thought she'd want to walk with me, right in front of Katniss and Peeta.  
  
We sweep down what was once a grand staircase into an old hall that still maintains some of its flash. There is good food, both Capitol dishes and the unadorned folk dishes of District Eleven. They clear the tables after it for dancing. Katniss and Peeta lead the dance, and put on a good performance.  
  
A muscular, pretty young woman in a waiter's uniform taps me on the shoulder, and I have the absurd impression that I'm going to be asked to dance, but instead, she says, "I thought you might like some air."  
  
I frown, but she flashes her hand open. There's a piece of paper in it with Katniss's mockingjay drawn on it. We go back through the kitchens, pretending that she's flirting with me and I’m not objecting, and she casually drops the paper into an incinerator as we head for the back door.  
  
"Think we can sneak away from the cameras, sweetheart?" I ask, keeping up the pretense by slapping her backside.  
  
"Think we're already clear," she says, "and if you do that again, I'll rip your arm off." She smiles pleasantly.  
  
From the shadows behind the justice building, a huge, hulking form appears.  
  
"Chaff!" I say. "Thought I wasn't going to see you. I didn't get any word. About anything."  
  
He jerks his head toward a shadowy grove of trees along a slow-moving creek. The girl and I follow.  
  
In the grove, there are benches, and Chaff points to them. He sits across from us. "You didn't get any word," he says, "because we didn't have anything planned."  
  
" _You_ didn't," the girl says bitterly.  
  
"And I told you and McKissack to keep it private."  
  
"What good is private? She risked having them send another fireball at her or dry up her water just to show respect to Rue's body. On national television. We're not going to sneak around about thanking her."  
  
Chaff stares at her for a long time, then shakes his head. "You have no idea what you're doing, Winnow. You _or_ McKissack."  
  
"What's going on?" I ask.  
  
"This is Winnow Robinson," he says. "Thresh's sister."  
  
"Twin sister," Winnow clarifies. "I saw your girl mourn my brother. They tried to pass it off as her being tired, but she was mourning him. I saw it. Who else ever did that in the arena, for someone from another district?  Someone who wasn't even her ally? We owed her something. Rue's dad thought so, too."  
  
Chaff glares at her. "What the two of you got her was one man dead on her account and two women injured."  
  
"Who?" I ask.  
  
"I don't know yet," Chaff says. "They were taken away before anyone identified them."  
  
"And the dead man?"  
  
"I never saw him before."  
  
"We called him the Collector," Winnow says. "He was always going around talking about paying our debts to the people we owed them to, even if we never got paid what we were owed. Things like that. He goes around and preaches about it on rest days. He used to work with Thresh in the fields. They put him in the orchards when he shrank, so he knew Rue's family, too. He told both of us that we couldn't let the debt go unpaid."  
  
Chaff grinds his teeth. "Well, he sure paid, didn't he?"  
  
"He said everyone owes a death in the end. He said--"  
  
I interrupt by asking Chaff, "So what you're telling me is that that whole business on the Verandah... you had nothing to do with it?"  
  
"I told them _not_ to do it. Winnow's been with us for a while now--"  
  
"Since my parents died," she says.  
  
"--and she used to be smarter than this."  
  
"I _used to_ have a brother to watch out for."  
  
There's a certain absurdity to big, powerful Thresh being "watched out for," but I don't mention it. I just say, "This is no time for splits. And it's no time to put even more attention on Eleven."  
  
"I pay my debts," Winnow says. "Same as my brother did, and same as your girl does."  
  
I rub my head, and think again about young idealists. "And it's paid," I say. "So lie low until Chaff tells you otherwise."  
  
"Oh, aren't we getting structured!" Winnow grumbles.  
  
"We better get structured," Chaff tells her. "Did you see what happened out there to your Collector? They didn't care that he was old, or that he owed anyone anything. Next time, it could be your MawMaw. Or one of McKissack's other little girls. And there won't be anyone to cover her in flowers this time."  
  
Winnow looks chastened, but still defiant. She stares out at the river, blinking back tears. " _She_ saw it," she says. "Katniss saw it. Even if no one else ever does. She knows we're on her side."  
  
"You scared the hell out of her," I say.  
  
She gets up and rushes off into the night.  
  
"Hothead," Chaff says.  
  
"Dangerous," I agree. "I'm surprised they hired her to work the dinner."  
  
"They didn't. I got her the uniform to sneak her in. She's a hothead, but she's one of us. If I don't keep her busy, she'll find some other trouble to get into."  
  
"And they didn't notice that someone they didn't hire was out there? The sister of one of the tributes?"  
  
Chaff gives me a bitter smile. "What do you expect, Haymitch? They can't be expected to tell one of us from another. Fine people like the mayor aren't going to be looking at a bunch of field hands and tree squirrels very closely, anyway, are they?"  
  
There's nothing to say to this. The class system in District Eleven makes the divide between the Seam and the town in Twelve look like child's play, and I can't even start to make sense of it. Chaff and I talk for a while, then I realize I need to get back before my absence is noted. He mutters, "See you at the Games, then," and vanishes the way Winnow went. I go back inside.  
  
There are drinks to be had, and I have them, but Valentine's sobriety pills are still working, and whatever alcohol is in them gets absorbed. I pretend to be drunk anyway, in case anyone saw me sneak away. I can act like I was just imbibing the private store I wish I'd thought to bring.  
  
We get back to the train before eleven, and Katniss and Peeta drop their feigned joy before they even sit down. Effie has a wire from the Capitol with an official speech that they're meant to give at every venue. There are even helpful stage directions. They are not to deviate from it or improvise in any way. They set about memorizing it.  
  
District Ten goes off without a hitch. The ranchers are polite and respectful. The food is great. Katniss and Peeta make a show of being caught trying to sneak out for a necking session. They're doing well enough that even I'm not sure whether they actually were having one.  
  
District Nine, which mills a lot of the grain grown in District Eleven as well as growing their own, couldn't be more different in personality. They're brow-beaten and miserable, and haven't had hope of a victor for years.  The ones they had a couple of decades ago were vicious then, and are plain mean now. The kids don't do anything spectacular here. No one would believe District Nine makes anyone feel romantic. I'm surprised they manage to propagate themselves here.  
  
It's Eight I'm worried about.  Eight is ready to rebel already, and angry at the world.  And Peeta killed one of their tributes in the Games and used her death to secure his standing in the Careers (not that she didn't give a blessing for this before sending him on his way).

Cecelia brings fabric to Cinna, making a great show of wanting to get a sneak peak at Katniss's dresses. Inside the fabric, there's a note that there have already been minor clashes with Peacekeepers. There is also a note that says "East Room, Justice Hall, camera broken." Cecelia taps it when she says, "There are people here who'd sure love to meet Peeta, if you can swing it."  
  
This surprises me.  Peeta's killing of the girl from Eight wasn't shown to the whole country.  I saw on my little viewing screen that she begged him to do it, and that he fought to keep from screaming when it was done.  All they would have seen was him cutting her throat while she muttered crazy nonsense under her breath.

He was obsessed with her for the first couple of months back in District Twelve, and had Effie sending him things since we got home to tell him who the girl was and what she was about. I don't know much about it. I know she was a little crazy at the end from the pain, whispering about rock-men and shushing someone who wasn't there. If they want Peeta to give them a more thorough accounting, I think they'll be disappointed. I doubt he'd have needed to go on a search for her identity if she'd told him anything comprehensible.  
  
I consider denying it, or pretending not to know what Cecelia means, but in the end, I don't feel like this is something I have a right to hide from him. While Katniss is going through one of her longer pre-dinner preps (apparently, her body hair has started to grow back in, causing panic in the ranks of stylists and beauticians), I tell him that there may be someone in the East Room for him. Sure enough, when we get there, there is a woman with curly red hair, a bearded man, and a skinny young boy with glasses.  
  
The man stands up and holds his hand out to Peeta. "I'm Foulard Green," he says. "This is my wife, Heddle. You... you... "  
  
Peeta looks stricken. "I killed you daughter Kersey," he says, his eyes filling up. He gets to his knees in front of Green. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could have done anything else."  
  
I wait for the explosion, and get ready to guard Peeta, or drag him out of here.  
  
Green puts his hand gently on Peeta's head. "You couldn't have. Do you remember what she whispered at the end, when you touched her with the knife?"  
  
"Something about rocks," he says, his voice thick. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand what she said!"  
  
Green smiles softly and urges Peeta onto one of the couches, then pulls a chair close to sit across from him. "She wasn't talking to you. She was using an old language. I won't say which. She was speaking to us. She said 'merciful.' She knew the Capitol wouldn't understand and wouldn't cut it out. She was telling us that you were acting out of mercy."  
  
"I still wish I could have saved her. I found out everything." He looks at the boy. "Are you Jakob?"  
  
He nods. "She was my girlfriend. And you couldn't have done anything. That's why we wanted to meet you. So you know we understand. Cato and that girl really killed her. You just stopped her suffering."  
  
Heddle Green comes forward and pulls something from her purse. It looks like a top. "This belonged to Kersey," she says. "It's a drop spindle. I don't think you have much use for it, but it was a hobby of hers. Spinning yarn. I'd like you to have it, so you remember. Remember that you did her the last kindness anyone could."  
  
Peeta is crying freely, and his hands are shaking, but he reaches out and takes it reverently. "Thank you, Mrs. Green," he says. "And I'm so sorry about Kersey."  
  
Cecelia comes in. "I'm sorry," she says. "But you have to leave. I kept the Peacekeepers busy as long as I could."  
  
The Greens (and the boy Jacob) each touch Peeta's head once, then slip out through a side entrance and head down a rickety fire escape.  
  
Peeta pulls his knees up and holds the spindle tight. I don't think he even sees Cecelia. I wave her off.  
  
I sit in the chair Foulard Green evacuated and say, "Are you going to be all right?"  
  
"Guess I have to be," he says. "It's almost show time."  
  
"You want to talk?"  
  
He shakes his head. "What's to talk about? I don't want to talk. I want to go find Katniss."  
  
"You going to talk to her about it?"  
  
"No. This one's mine. I'll handle it. I just... I want Katniss, okay?"  
  
I nod. "Sure."  
  
He goes away, and I stay in the East Room, wondering if Cecelia will come back. She doesn't, but a Peacekeeper finds me and impatiently herds me back to the main rooms, where I get dressed and go down to dinner. Peeta clings to Katniss that night, and I doubt he's given her the slightest idea that it's anything more than their usual act. Pictures are broadcast around Panem.  
  
I don't see the spindle again.  
  
We move on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Victory Tour continues, and Haymitch makes contact with other members of the Rebellion.

**Chapter Four**  
District Seven decides that we need a tour. Unfortunately -- but unsurprisingly -- Johanna Mason isn't the one to give it. She'd have made it entertaining. We also don't see Jack or Blight. Instead, we're subjected to a day of the Mayor, Susanna Andrews, giving a dry recitation of facts about various kinds of trees. Even Katniss, who loves trees, looks bored. Peeta politely asks questions, but even he doesn't feign a great deal of interest.  
  
This, of course, means that we spend a whole night there, quiet on the tracks. I wander toward the bar car (no pills today, since our formal appearance is over) and run into Cinna, who's taking in one of Katniss's dresses. He asks what's going on with her.  
  
I stop. "What?"  
  
"Katniss. Is she sick? Because she's lost weight in less than a week."  
  
"She's okay," I say. "I don't think this is her idea of a good time."  
  
"It's got to be water weight. Nothing else comes off that fast. She's not eating or drinking enough."  
  
A part of me would like to just explain the situation, but the train is bugged, so it's not possible. I just shake my head. Katniss will eat when she's hungry.  
  
Which isn't the next morning, as we head for District Six, or the next evening, at their banquet. Berenice and Paulin aren't there. I suppose it could be that they were disinvited like the others, but I don't think Snow considers them much of a threat. I'm not sure he even knows they're rebels, or would care much if he did. It's just as likely that they've nodded off somewhere and forgotten about it.  
  
Katniss makes a show of pushing food around on her plate, but watching closely, I see she manages to transfer most of it to Peeta, who eats it unobtrusively and tries to tempt her with a few of the desserts. They dance, but she doesn't seem very energetic. He becomes very solicitous toward her, and people joke that they're trying to find an excuse to sneak off again. I cut in and remind her to smile. She does. I hate myself a little bit for this.  
  
On the train to District Five, where we will have a two-day stop and another tour, Katniss has a screaming nightmare, and Valentine supplies her with sleeping pills. I wake up in the middle of the night (a fresh horror in my head involving Maysilee, Digger, Katniss, and that girl from Eight whose parents came) and I go out to find Peeta drifting listlessly through the train.  
  
He points at Katniss's door, behind which we can hear strangled screaming. "She's still having nightmares," he says. "But she's not waking up."  
  
"Why are you up?"  
  
He snorts humorlessly. "Why are _you?_ "  
  
I guess this is answer enough. We go our separate ways.  
  
The next morning, Katniss doesn’t look like the pills helped much. She doesn't eat breakfast. She manages to put on a show at District Five's Justice Building, kissing Peeta on cue and smiling when she's told to. I see her looking at Finch's family on their platform, and momentarily fear another outburst, but she says nothing. At dinner, she again takes small portions, which she pushes around on her plate and ends up feeding to her preps. Despite this, she speaks glowingly to the mayor about how smart Finch was, and says that she called her "Foxface" in her head, and it was because of how smart she was. "If I hadn't seen her dancing around those landmines, I'd have never spotted them on my own!"  
  
This is the right approach, as District Five has professed great pride in Finch's intelligence, and one of her teachers is trying to get a patent for a process she developed in her name. (This will not get anywhere, though I don't mention it. As far as the government is concerned, dead tributes are not to leave behind any accomplishments. It might start people thinking about what they could have contributed if they hadn't had their throats slashed or their necks snapped.)  
  
They play a slow song, which Katniss and Peeta dance to, either so absorbed in each other that they don't see anyone else or so tired that they're physically holding each other up. Maybe a little of both. I think about cutting in and telling her to perk up a little, but I can see the cameras devouring what they're doing as it is. I look at the live screen, and guess that the audience is seeing more romance than weariness.  
  
The music picks up and Katniss's prep, Octavia, timidly asks me to dance. I'm tempted to tell her no on principle -- I don't need Octavia turned into a cheerful robot run by little pills on my account -- but there's a Quell this summer, and I lost a good source of sponsors when Snow shut down the Daughters of the Founding last year. Screen time with a Capitol girl never hurts with sponsors. Mimi Meadowbrook told me that, or at least implied it, before they re-educated her and she ended up dead at the foot of a garden statue, the word "REAPED" written on it, the last cryptic thing she would ever tell anyone.  
  
But she was right about the sponsors.  
  
So I laugh at Octavia's inane prattle, flirt with her a little, and let her pass me over to Claudia the hairstylist. I feel this would be much easier drunk, but the pills are back to their incessant policing of my brain. I think I hate them even more than I hated that hormone shot when I was sixteen.  
  
Back on the train, I go to sleep from sheer boredom, hoping I won't dream, and I'll just wake up in Four, where I may be able to meet with Finnick or Mags if we're careful.   
  
No such luck.   
  
I dream about Digger again. I wish I'd never thought of her when I was talking to Katniss; she's been quiet for a lot of years, but now here she is, fresh as a mutt daisy full of poison perfume. I dream I am dancing with her at the banquet. She is wearing one of Cinna's dresses, which might be very pretty if it wasn't worn by a burned and rotting corpse. I try to keep her from disintegrating as we dance, but she's melting into the floor, leaving a smear of unspeakable slime behind her.  
  
I had that slime all over me when we took her off the fence. Danny Mellark got it cleaned off of me somehow. It's not something I care to remember in detail, but any time I get frustrated at him for his bad choices, I remember that he cleaned me and comforted me after that hell. It's not the sort of thing either one of us would ever talk about, but it's always there.  
  
I wake up in the dark, sure I am covered with it again, even smelling that awful reek until I finally become aware of my surroundings. The train. I'm not the only one having nightmares. I can hear Katniss, a few compartments down, screaming in her sleep. By the time I gather myself up enough to check on her, she's stopped.  
  
I can't even think about sleeping again, and I wish I'd brought books. I have at least a few I haven't read that aren't banned, and the dreams of strangers are preferable to my own, but I didn't pack them. Doesn't go with my "rakish" image as a mentor any more than it ever went with my image as a Seam kid a quarter century ago. Also, a lot of the ones I'd rather be reading, I'm not exactly supposed to have, and I'd rather not have them confiscated.  
  
Reluctantly, I go to the lounge and watch television. There's some re-run footage of the tour, and Caesar Flickerman is in ecstasy about how happy Katniss and Peeta are. It has occurred to me -- and most of the rebel victors -- that Caesar would be a good recruit if we could get him to admit that he hates the Games and likes the tributes. None of us can think of any other reason that he consistently helps as much as he can. Unfortunately, he practically lives under Snow's nose, so it's a little hard to pull him aside for a chat about treason. Plutarch could do it, but Plutarch was never a tribute, and he doesn't trust Caesar. He refuses to even entertain the idea.  
  
After the news recap (which also includes Snow's birthday celebration, a somber recollection of deaths in the Dark Days, and a dancing hippo in the zoo), they move into an inane adventure about a Peacekeeper who has to rescue a Capitol family from a free-riding out-district gang of thieves after a train derails somewhere between Seven and Eight. I hope Effie isn't watching; she has her own nightmares about derailed trains and out-district raiders, no thanks to the rebellion unwisely inviting them in. I was ready to join the Peacekeepers in cleaning out their camps by the time it was over, but they wouldn't let me.  
  
At any rate, the Capitol family in the movie is doing improbably well at surviving in the vicious wilderness (in which tire tracks can frequently be seen) until the feral gang sets upon them when the oldest son falls in love with a gang girl and teaches her to live in civilization, which angers her brothers.  
  
The credits are rolling when Effie comes in, wearing her peignoir. Her natural hair is covered up with a glittery wrapped towel. She has never explained this head-covering fixation to me, and I have never seen her hair. "Haymitch," she says, "we have a problem."  
  
"What?"  
  
She crooks her finger at me and heads back toward the sleeping compartments. She stops outside Katniss's and points through the small window. Katniss has drawn the curtain around her bed, but I can see the end of it. There are four feet, and one is made of plastic and metal. Effie raises her eyebrows.  
  
I shrug. "So what?"  
  
"This isn't proper."  
  
I roll my eyes. I've lived in the Capitol for several weeks every year, and, compared to things I've seen openly done in bars, Katniss and Peeta sharing a bed (with chastity medically enforced, though I doubt Effie knows it) wouldn't even rate a raised eyebrow. It would probably even help convince Snow, whose doubts are undoubtedly amplified by the fact that Katniss appears to actually sleep in her own bed in the Victors' Village. I repeat, "So what?"  
  
She presses her lips together, another action which seems to result in flared nostrils. "We aren't in the Capitol, Haymitch. Some of the districts are less enlightened, including District Three." She frowns. "Besides, they're too young. I don't want to see them get in trouble. Or have them gossiped about. You know that there will be gossip."  
  
This is hard to deny. The Capitol gossips about who eats what for lunch, let alone who has been in which bed lately. On the other hand, if it gets around that they can't keep their hands off of each other, it could only help the act. "Let it be," I tell her.  
  
I don't think she'll go along with this in the end, but at least she doesn't go in and wake them up.  
  
She's right about the gossip, of course. Even before we get to District Four at noon, news has gone up and down the full length of the train. The reporters have been sent ahead, and Effie manages to browbeat the preps and the train crew into keeping their mouths shut (supposedly), but it will get around anyway. Valentine looks confused by the whole business. Everyone is conspicuously quiet when they show up for breakfast. They don't seem to care, and for once, both of them look like they actually _got_ sleep.  
  
At the station, we're met by the mayor of District Four, a woman named Eliza Callahan. She greets Katniss and Peeta warmly, and tells me, "Our victors are unfortunately quite busy, and can't come. Finnick Odair left a letter for you." She hands it to me openly, which may be the best way to throw off suspicion. Certainly nothing handed over by a district mayor would be seditious. Even if the envelope is watermarked with a mockingjay.  
  
District Four's relationship with the Capitol has always been complicated. They put on a good face, and they don't make trouble. They have a seaside resort, one of only two district destinations that Capitol tourists routinely visit. Their victors have habitually been Capitol darlings, possibly because the media enjoys coming down here to take pictures on the beach, though none to Finnick's extent. As far as the Capitol is concerned, they're as compliant as One and Two, which is why they're allowed to elect a mayor (from an approved list of candidates) rather than have one appointed.  
  
On the other hand, some of the fiercest fighting of the Dark Days took place here on the beaches. That they turned on the rebellion in the end -- or on District Thirteen, depending on which script the Capitol is following on a given day -- is well known, and that's why the Capitol considers them a safe pet. But according to Mags, in the shadow world of District Four, the rebellion never ended. They put on a cheerful, agreeable face to make sure no one really looks closely at what goes on there. She didn't think they'd ever really rebel again, simply because they'd learned how to keep the Capitol's nose _mostly_ out of their business, reaping day aside.  
  
Five years ago, when Annie Cresta broke on national television, that changed. Annie can't be hidden. Before she was reaped, she was known in district -- daughter of a ship's captain, beautiful and popular for her carefully hidden charity work, making slightly flawed nets and giving them away to poor fishermen. She never belonged in the arena, and when she lost her district partner, she fell apart, spawning an insulting fashion trend in the Capitol of claiming melodramatic madness. What finally broke District Four was the string of tacky movies the Capitol produced, while they had to deal with a real person who they loved being publicly destroyed.  
  
They've been a major engine of rebellion since, and the Capitol doesn't even know it. They have no idea that every candidate on their approved list was secretly a rebel, and Eliza Callahan knows better than to tip her hand too soon.  
  
I open the letter for a quick glance, pretend not to have time to read it, and put it in my jacket pocket.  
  
Callahan takes us for a long drive along the main road of District Four, by the beach, which is gray with winter but still very nice. The Victors' Village here is made up of tall houses that command spectacular ocean views. After we pass it, we see fisherman wading in the shallows, and boats out on the water. Peeta asks if we could go to the edge of the sea, but Callahan says we can't. There isn't time. I find myself disappointed. My visit to Four during my own victory tour was not among my finer hours as a victor, and Finnick is too closely watched for us to meet secretly on his home turf. I've no more touched the ocean than the kids have.   
  
Which is a sort of alien thought, so I shove it aside. This is not a trip for sight-seeing. As we pass, I see people already starting to gather on the sidewalks. A few chant, "Katniss! Katniss!"  
  
We reach the mayor's house, where Katniss and Peeta will get ready for their parade through the streets. I am, thankfully, not invited for this. I go to a spare bedroom and open the letter from Finnick.  
  
We toyed with any number of sophisticated codes over the years -- and a few ridiculous ones, like my high school note taking system -- but Finnick, at the age of fifteen, was close enough to his boyhood to have one that the Capitol doesn't even think about, perhaps considering it too whimsical or silly. Those of us well past our childhoods hadn't thought of it, either.  
  
But for short, easy messages, it's simple, effective and unsuspected. I smell the lemon immediately upon opening the envelope. Finnick's letter is simple and wide spaced, in his lightweight handwriting. It says that he's sorry he missed me, he and Annie are fine, Mags's arthritis is getting to her (he doesn't mention her stroke; he tries to pretend it's a minor setback), and he hopes we enjoy District Four and get a chance to swim. I turn on the lamp beside the bed and hold the letter up to it for heat. The lemon juice he's used to write the real message turns brown.  
  
 _Pieces in place. Fish strike, two months; techno-strike from Three, also two months. Distraction for Thirteen to insert covert operatives. Arena South Pacific, constructed land, no details. Burn._  
  
I burn the note, wondering why Finnick bothered with the detail about the arena. I know Plutarch means to make a statement, but we'll mostly be working in the Capitol. Plutarch can take care of the arena. Besides, leaking information on the arena is just the kind of thing Snow would do to trip up mentors, to see where we're getting our information, so it's not like we could do anything with it.  
  
Effie, the stylists, and I are taken by back streets to the Justice Building, while Katniss and Peeta have their parade. On the screen in the lobby, I can see the crowds cheering them with wild abandon. I catch a few glimpses of mockingjay jewelry, and even briefer glimpses of idiots who hold up handfuls of red berries (the camera cuts away from these quickly). Katniss looks overwhelmed and shocked, possibly because she was responsible for the death of the girl from this district in the Games. But even on the family platforms, where Charlotte's parents and grandmother stand, there is only fierce devotion. This could be because Peeta made a point of saying kind things about her in the pre-tour interview, but I don't think so. These are not the Greens from District Eight, here to extend forgiveness. These are parents who are furious about the loss of their child, and know who the blame really belongs with. Katniss may have dropped the tracker jacker nest from its tree, but it was the Capitol who put Charlotte under that tree, and it is Katniss who began the defiance.   
  
Their banquet is heavy on the seafood, of course, which Katniss and Peeta have never had much of. Katniss actually eats a normal amount, so, as far as I'm concerned, whatever she and Peeta are doing, they can keep doing it. I spend most of the evening with Callahan, who gives me a lecture on the history and industry of District Four which boils down to a full inventory of their war chest. It'll get them further than Twelve's war chest (which is mostly empty), but it's not going to last long against the Capitol if the Capitol is not otherwise occupied. The real strength is that, in essence, they have a navy as big as the Capitol's. Unfortunately, it's armed with spears and fishnets.  
  
I hope that Finnick will send a message to meet somewhere, but he doesn't. When I watch the recaps on television, I see why -- half of the reporters are covering the Victory Tour from Victors' Village, and Finnick is their star performer. I don't know if this is against his will or a futile attempt to give the kids a little break, but either way, there was no possibility of him slipping away.  
  
That night on the train, I see Peeta go to Katniss's compartment again, and no one wakes anyone up with screaming. I see Effie lecturing Katniss the next morning, and Katniss nods a lot, but ignores her, as the second night of the trip to Three goes exactly the same way.  
  
I tell Effie again to let it go, but her sensibilities are wounded.  
  
"Of course they are," Cinna says, giving me an indifferent shrug while he pins one of Katniss's gowns. "They're not supposed to be adults. Why do you think they want to make sure the beards never grow in the arena?"  
  
"That's not really what that shot is for."  
  
"Maybe not at the beginning," Cinna says. "Not when Mags pushed for it."  
  
I've heard something about this over the years. Mags's ally, a girl from Seven, was captured by a Career pack, and what they did to her inspired Mags to spend her own Victory Tour, and a good deal of time after it, making sure that boys wouldn't be able to ever do it again. I've never watched Mags's Games -- they were long before I was born, and I don't exactly watch the things for recreation -- but her revenge was the stuff of Games legends: she set a circle of fire around the boys' camp, and picked them off one by one with her slingshot. Her friend threw herself into the fire before Mags could rescue her, and from that moment on, the sponsors gave Mags everything she wanted, the moment she wanted it. She was the first truly beloved victor, and I guess it was because the audience didn't like what the boys did any better than they liked it when a boy named Titus, from Six, started eating dead tributes a few years ago.  
  
"Are you telling me that now it's just about keeping their beards from growing?"  
  
"Not _just_. The problem we have now is that the audience got used to seeing them that way. The tributes are children who are never to become adults."  
  
"Tell that to Finnick. For that matter, they wanted Katniss to get fake breasts last year, remember?"  
  
"And Effie was scandalized. You know that. After she got back, she came to my studio and ranted about it for two hours." He grins. "Have you ever heard her rant?"  
  
"Not for a long time," I say. I'm not sure I've ever heard what I'd call a "rant" from her, but there were times before they took her in that she was actually passionate about things. Sometimes, she was even passionate about me. These days, the closest she gets to passion about _anything_ is worrying about the schedule. "She must have been pretty wound up."  
  
"A big part of the Capitol audience would be, too. They want romance, but they want it to be innocent and pure. You know what it's like in the Capitol. I think they just want to believe in the idea of it. Which is particularly sick, when you add it to the fact that they expect these pure, innocent kids to _kill each other._ " He picks out a pearl necklace and puts it on the dress form, then rejects it. "Of course, there are other people out there. They wouldn't mind at all. They probably want cameras in her compartment right now."  
  
"And those are the only options?"  
  
"At the moment. But Portia and I have been aging them up a little bit in every district. I'm hoping we can get people to see them as potential adults without turning them into... what they turned Finnick into."  
  
An announcement from the conductor that we are heading into District Three interrupts this disturbing conversation, and I get ready for the show. I look closely at Katniss and Peeta and see what Cinna means about aging them up. Peeta's suits have been becoming more sophisticated, and Katniss is in richer, more somber colors. Her hair is up instead of in a braid, and her make-up is more adult without being overbearing. I wonder if she's noticed.  
  
After the speech at the Justice Building, Katniss and Peeta are taken on a tour of the factories. I beg off, claiming a stomach ache, and go to the banquet prep rooms. I am not entirely surprised to find Beetee and Wiress inside. Like Berenice and Paulin, Snow may know they're rebels, but he considers them weak, and therefore doesn't care if I see them. In Berenice and Paulin's case, he may have a point. With Wiress and Beetee, he's out of his mind to discount them… not that I plan to correct his impression.  
  
Wiress is examining Katniss's gowns, checking the seams for special effects.  
  
"I don't think he's lighting them on fire here," I tell her.  
  
She smiles vaguely. "I hoped they might have..." she starts.  
  
Beetee finishes, "...that fake fire. We've been quite interested in how they do it. Everything I've come up with would still burn."  
  
"Peeta's stylist was born here," I tell them. "I don't know what her name was before she came to the Capitol, but whatever you do in school around here, she must have been good at it."  
  
"I wonder if..." Wiress says.  
  
Beetee nods and says, "Probably," but doesn't clarify for anyone living outside Wiress's head. This is nothing new. They've been driving me crazy for twenty-four years with this act. We all joke that they're an old married couple, and Beetee jokes along with us, though he actually does love her in his way, and anyone who insults her might find himself electrocuted in his sleep. Beetee pulls a watch from his pocket and says, "I wonder how long they'll be." He pushes a button. "Because the bugs will only pick up a conversation Wiress and I are having about Cinna's dresses for three minutes. You're not in it, which will make them suspicious even faster."  
  
"Great," I say. "Finnick says things are in place?"  
  
"For two districts. Did he tell you about the Quell arena? It's a constructed island. They're not using natural landforms. We couldn't get anything else on it, though, and I don't think anyone in Three is involved."  
  
"Let's leave the arena to Plutarch. He'll get the tributes out. I haven't told Katniss anything."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She's not ready."  
  
Beetee looks irritated. "How are we meant to do this if she isn't getting the districts rallied around her?"  
  
"Her family and friends have been threatened, and she's not particularly invested in this."  
  
"What? How can she not be invested? She started it."  
  
There's no time to discuss the mysteries of Katniss Everdeen's brain, so I just say, "Never mind. People have been rallying around the mockingjay just fine. It doesn't need her to speak for it yet. We need an escape plan from the Capitol. Plutarch's been in touch with District Thirteen. Are you going to be able to come up with some kind of gadget to hide Annie if Finnick can't bring her to the Capitol?"  
  
"I'm working on it."  
  
"And something to scramble the messages. Plutarch wants to 'make a statement,' and you know Snow's going to want to make one right back. If he uses your gadgets for it, District Three's going to be in a world of hurt."  
  
"We have an evacuation plan. Wiress will stay behind. She knows the route. And we have allies."  
  
"Good, but how are you going to keep her from going to the Capitol? Don't they make her mentor?"  
  
"Have you read the laws concerning support in the Games?" he asks, even though he knows I haven't. Some victors take up macramé as a talent. Beetee took up the laws of Panem, and has them more or less memorized. "It's required for one mentor to be present, but any victor who is proven incapable of providing support cannot be required to mentor a tribute. If there's no mentor available, one is assigned from another district."  
  
"I'm not exactly the best support," I say. "Think they'll let me out of it?"  
  
"You provide excellent advice. Until this year, your tributes haven't been the best listeners," Beetee corrects me coolly. "At any rate, Wiress has been acting increasingly odd this year" -- I wonder how anyone tells the difference, but I don't mention this -- "and I plan to submit papers to the effect that she is unsuitable to mentor. She'll position herself in the square, and we've arranged a signal with our allies to begin our evacuation if we have reason to believe the Capitol plans a retaliation."  
  
This doesn't strike me as the world's best plan. I like Wiress, in an odd way, but hinging a strategy on her ability to control a crowd? Not what I'd choose to do.  
  
"Will Twelve be giving us a distraction?"  
  
I shake my head. "I can think of about ten people in Twelve who'd stage an uprising. There used to be one more, but Peeta's dad's not in the mix anymore. Even if he were..."  
  
"There aren't enough," Beetee finishes without rancor. "That's true. And Katniss herself puts citizens of District Twelve in danger. It's better to draw attention elsewhere. We can prepare here." A yellow light flashes on his watch. "We're running out of time," he says. "Do you have other news?"  
  
"There's a split in the rebellion in Eleven. Thresh's sister is a firebrand."  
  
Beetee swears under his breath. "Chaff better get that under control. If we don't have food, we're sunk."  
  
And that's that. His watch flashes red, and Wiress starts talking about beautiful dresses, and how she wants to wear them again. Beetee tells her they should get married so she'll have an excuse to do so, and she laughs absently, though I'm not convinced he's actually joking.  
  
They leave only a few minutes before Katniss and Peeta get back. They are talking in a desultory way about the inventions they've seen, many of which wouldn't even work in Twelve, where communications are so spotty. Peeta wants to plant wheat and grind his own flour. Katniss looks at him like he's crazy, then gives him a kiss.  
  
There isn't a camera in sight.  
  
We go down to dinner together, and the show goes on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The District Twelve entourage arrives in the Capitol, forcing Katniss and Peeta into an engagement, and putting Haymitch in an uncomfortable situation.

**Chapter Five**  
I know going in that District Two can never be anything but a disaster, and I am right. Cato's family is neither the Greens in Eight nor Charlotte's family from Four. They may or may not see Katniss as his murderer, but they certainly behave as though he should have won. Clove's family, I can see from the steps of the Justice Building, wants blood. It may have been Thresh who killed her, but he did it in the process of stopping her from killing Katniss. They've hated her since the day of the feast. The banquet at the Justice Hall is sumptuous, but cold. No one tries to talk to Katniss and Peeta, so they use it as an excuse to play up the romance a little, dancing with one another all night. Peeta tries to express admiration for Clove and Cato's strengths, since he had allied with them, but even he is unable to sway the upper crust in District Two.  
  
There are so many victors here that the government routinely rations the feast tickets to six a year, so I know I won't see all of them, but only three show up. Otho Magro, who won a few years ago and is generally a good kid, makes an appearance and says hello to me, but doesn't stay long enough to meet the kids after their dance. Brutus is around every year, as far as I know -- he loves the Games -- but he seems to be glued to the bar, which is enough to keep me away from it. I don't make an effort to introduce him to Katniss or Peeta. Enobaria comes in while they're playing to the cameras, stands beside me silently for a little while, then sniffs, "They do put on a good show, don't they?"  
  
"They love each other," I say.  
  
"Yeah. I bet. I'd love anyone who kept my backside covered, too." She wrinkles her nose at them, then leaves without saying hello to them or goodbye to me.  
  
If anything, District One is worse. Clove's death was only tangentially related to Katniss and Cato's ended up a mercy kill, but in District One, there's no getting around it. She dropped a nest of tracker jackers on Glimmer, and shot Marvel through the throat. She doesn't attempt to bond with anyone. Gloss and Cashmere have been invited to banquet, but the mayor makes a point of telling us that they declined, though a handful of the older victors attend. We are forced on a tour of Jewelers' Row, where I catch Katniss staring at a diamond ring. When I ask her about it, she just sighs and says, "I have an idea. I need to think about it."  
  
Their appearances in the rebellious districts have done nothing to dampen the rising fires, and they haven't failed to notice it. I want to tell them that there was never a chance, that their very presence -- particularly Katniss's presence -- made the embers flare up, and that all the displays of love in the world couldn't help, because most of the rebels never doubted that she loved him in the first place. They consider that her first rebellion.  
  
They're right.  
  
All the public kisses, all the dances, all the maudlin staring into one another's eyes -- if anything, it _feeds_ the rebellion, at least the more romantically inclined of us. The more cynical among us might not be inspired, but they're certainly not deterred.  
  
There are two problems with telling the kids this. The first is that we're constantly bugged now, and I can't very well share _anything_ about the rebellion or how the people involved in it might feel. The second is that it would throw them into a tailspin to know that they can't do anything at all to assuage Snow's anger. He set Katniss an impossible task, and will now gleefully hold her to it.  
  
I'd hoped that a good enough show from them would at least convince Snow that they're not actively agitating, but even that might have been optimistic of me. I think now that he will just torment them into putting on ever more ridiculous displays until he finally decides to kill them. It's payback for putting him a situation that he couldn't profit from.  
  
But we're in deep now, and as we pull into the Capitol, into the cheering crowds of fans, there's no chance to undo the damage.  
  
We get to the training center at around ten in the morning. The kids will have prep later for an interview with Caesar, but we actually have a few minutes to rest. We go to the kitchen area, and I turn on the water to confuse the bugs. "You've done everything you can," I tell them.  
  
"No," Katniss says, then sighs. "There's one more thing. Peeta, at the interview... you could propose. I'll say yes. Then it's all we can do."  
  
Peeta closes his eyes and leans on the wall, pressing his fingers against his eyelids. He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's the inevitable, isn't it? I'll..." He takes a shaky breath then opens his eyes and says, "I'll go get something written up. It'll be good." He turns and heads off to his room.  
  
Katniss starts to follow, but I grab her arm and say, "Let him be."  
  
She looks after him, pained. "I thought he wanted it anyway," she says.  
  
I shake my head. "Not like this. He wanted it to be real." I turn off the water to end the conversation. I doubt it's any better for Katniss than for Peeta. She goes to her room.  
  
I go to the bar, pour myself a drink, and palm the pills Valentine gave me. I'm not on television tonight. I have nothing at all to do but sit here and hate Snow, which is something I've gotten very good at over the years.  
  
Peeta emerges after about forty minutes, goes to the door, and nods to me. I follow him up to the roof, which is someplace I never thought to go. I realize now why he comes up here - the air filtration system is even better than running water. I follow him to the roof ledge, and we look out across the Capitol.  
  
"It's pretty here," he says out of nowhere.  
  
"For the price we pay, it better be," I say.  
  
"I don't think she really wants to marry me."  
  
"You're both pretty young," I suggest.  
  
"Should I back off it, Haymitch? I mean, you're right. We're young. They can't expect us to just get married. I mean, what's next? Are we supposed to have children right away? I don't think she even wants them."  
  
I don't know how to answer this, and Peeta doesn't seem to be waiting for an answer.  
  
"Would they understand in the Capitol that we're really young?" He bites his lip. "Everyone says my brother Jonadab was too young to get married, and he and Sarey were twenty."  
  
"That's pretty young."  
  
"Well, there's a baby. They're saying it's due in March, and when it's born in January, everyone will say she's early. It might even be born by the time we get back."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I guess getting married to save the country is a good reason to get married, too. And Jonadab and Sarey are pretty happy, actually. Do you think Katniss and I could be happy? If we try?"  
  
This time, he does wait for an answer. He's looking at me imploringly. I wish I'd had more time to drink. "I don't know, Peeta," I say. "You're in a bad situation. That's not about you. If anyone can make Katniss happy, I think it's you."  
  
"What about her actual boyfriend?" he asks dryly, and looks back out over the city. "Once we're clear of here, I'll tell her she doesn't have to.... I mean that I don't expect her to... that she can..." He wipes violently at his face. "I promised I'd be her friend, Haymitch. This is a lot to ask for friends."  
  
"I know."  
  
He sighs and looks out over the Capitol. "My dad said you loved a girl when _you_ were sixteen. He said you married her, but she died right after the Games."  
  
My gut tightens up, and I hate Danny a little bit for sharing this particular piece of information. It doesn't belong to him.  
  
Or maybe it does. I don't know. He scrubbed her off of me. Maybe she belongs to him, too, at least a little bit. But I doubt that's why he told Peeta. I expect it was more along the lines of, _Let me explain Haymitch to you, son…_  
  
Peeta looks at me quizzically, then says, "It's true, then?"  
  
I nod. "Yeah. It's true. Your grandfather used to send bread for the tributes in the Justice Building. My girl came and… well, she wanted to do a toasting. It wasn't legal. Just…" I shake my head. "It's not your business, or Danny's, for that matter."  
  
"What was her name?"  
  
I shake my head. "It was a long time ago."  
  
"So long you forgot her name?" I don't answer him, though he stares at me for a very long time. He shakes his head. "Never mind. I'll do it. I'll propose to Katniss. Maybe it'll do some good. And I'll let her be happy however she needs to be." He takes a deep breath. "I better get back down. The preps will be here soon. Maybe Effie can find a ring for me to give her." He starts back inside, bent over heavily.  
  
"Peeta?" I call.  
  
He turns.  
  
"Indigo," I say. "Indigo Hardy. Everyone called her Digger. And that's the last time you're going to hear it. Are you happy?"  
  
"Thank you, Haymitch," he says, and goes inside.  
  
I stay on the roof.  
  
Finish my drink.  
  
Hate Snow.  
  
Effie comes up to collect me an hour later, and makes me walk a line to prove I'm sober enough to sit in Caesar Flickerman's audience. She seems annoyed that I'm not wobbling, since it means she has to deal with me, and makes me freshen my breath before we go. She also feeds me more of Valentine's pills, since there will be a feast after the interview. She actually insists on a double dose, since there will be more there to drink. Great. At least whatever it is keeps the shakes from coming, but it does sort of defeat the purpose.  
  
The interviews with Caesar are supposed to be spontaneous, so the interview subjects can't be seen with him before they go out on stage. As a general rule, though, mentors brief him on what he needs to lead them to. He's delighted to find out that there will be a proposal, and says he can work it up dramatically.  
  
"I like those kids," he says. "You're looking after them, aren't you, Haymitch? Keeping them out of trouble?" He raises his eyebrows, and I guess he knows that Snow is gunning for them.  
  
"I’m doing my best," I say. "And they're doing theirs."  
  
"And I'll do mine," he concludes, then goes out on stage to introduce them.  
  
He does. If he suspects that there's anything not entirely sincere, it doesn't show. He gives them questions they can answer in some entertaining way that will advance the narrative. Peeta pulls a story out of the ether about playing in the snow together. It's endearing enough, though in my opinion, for once, Katniss tops it by sincerely extolling Peeta for what a great comfort he is, and what a good man he's become. Not to be outdone on Caesar's stage, Peeta gets down on his knees and pours out every good thing he feels about her, then tops it off with a marriage proposal that probably has every young woman in Panem daydreaming... and every young man in Panem shaking in his shoes.  
  
Katniss accepts. Caesar has live cameras on several districts, and there seems to be very genuine excitement. In Four, I even see Finnick giving the thumbs up, though it might be sarcastic. The camera pans Twelve, but there aren't many people out and about. I see Peeta's middle brother and his girlfriend hooting and hollering. There are no shots of the Seam or the Victors' Village. In Eight, there is a huge crowd in the street, some holding up signs pledging their love for Peeta and Katniss, but the cameras abruptly cut away. I will have to ask Cecelia what happened. Eleven more or less considers Katniss one of its own since her alliance with Rue, and the people are delirious with joy. Katniss, watching, looks a little overwhelmed.  
  
Apparently Effie couldn't find a ring, because one isn't presented. What _is_ presented is President Snow, coming out in a surprise appearance to pretend to wish them well. I can't tell what he says to Katniss privately, but they joke about passing laws to make her mother let her get married before she's thirty. Katniss is surprisingly good at this particular lie, and Peeta is always good, so they get through it.  
  
Effie tugs my hand and pulls me out of the audience, to the little stage door that goes to the work area. She flashes her escort badge at the guards, and they let us in.  
  
Katniss has been whisked away to be changed for the party. Peeta apparently doesn't need a new costume, so he is sitting on a little overstuffed chair, looking green.  
  
Effie goes to him, all smiles, and pinches his cheeks. "You did it! Oh, it was just wonderful! Did you see how happy everyone is for you?"  
  
Peeta digs up a sunny smile from some closed off storage space inside him and says, "I don't need people to be happy _for_ me... how could I be any happier?"  
  
This undoes Effie, and she starts weeping and telling him how wonderful and sweet and good he is. For whatever reason, this seems to give Peeta something to focus on, and he fusses over Effie while we wait for Katniss to get back, giving her a hug and telling her what a great escort she's been. He invites her to the wedding and tells her she can sit with his family. Caesar gets into the act, and is also invited to sit on the Mellark side of the aisle. I doubt either one of them realizes that this is a guarantee of a very tense day.  
  
"Where do I sit?" I ask.  
  
"Who says you're sitting?" he says. "You better be standing up there with me, right with my brothers. Unless Katniss wants you to give her away, I guess."  
  
Despite the fact that I know he's acting, that I know he's about as happy about this wedding as he would be about a knife in the gut, I feel absurdly touched.  
  
I _really_ need a drink. Apparently, I get sentimental when I'm sober for too long.  
  
Katniss comes out in another of Cinna's creations, and we're all swept over to the evening's car. Cameras crowd the way, and Katniss and Peeta give them a kiss to film. Katniss actually seems to be in better spirits, and is putting on an unusually good show as we arrive at the presidential mansion. She smiles and waves the way she did in the chariot at the tribute parade. She is the queen of the moment, and, to all appearances, she is enjoying it. Peeta goes along with her, but he's more used to leading than following on the narrative, and I can see him trying to figure out her game.  
  
I wish him luck. I haven't the foggiest idea what she's up to, other than getting to the food. As soon as we are inside, she pulls Peeta along to the tables and starts making up for the last week of picking at nothing.  
  
The party is impressive even by Capitol standards. If the strikes start, it may be the last of its kind. There's food from everywhere, music played from angel platforms, fountains of every kind of drink I can imagine. I head for the liquor fountains, which are in the center of the banquet hall. I get a glass of something amber and potent. It tastes fine, but has no effect with the double dose of sober pills, which makes the whole thing kind of a waste. I don't care. I drink it down and get a second before a Capitol woman with a bright purple wig pushes past me to get some, recognizes me, and starts to ask what I think will be in the next Quell.  
  
I've had two drinks, so I guess I should seem drunk. I say, "Well, I think the tributes will have jet packs, and the whole thing will be in the damned sky. That's why they've got the angel platforms. It's a clue." I waggle my eyebrows.  
  
She laughs wildly. "Oh, that would be wonderful! Are you mentoring, or will Peeta mentor?"  
  
This thought hasn't actually occurred to me. There's no reason Peeta can't mentor the boy from Twelve this year. Except that I can't see him teaching a tribute to kill when the Games get brutal. He'll spend all his time hoping for a miracle like he got. "I guess we'll flip for it," I tell the woman, and fill my glass again.  
  
"Going a little heavy on that, aren't you?" someone says behind me.  
  
I glance over my shoulder and am not surprised to see Plutarch Heavensbee. "No danger," I say. "Magic dust from the medics."  
  
"Let's not trust it," he says, leading me away. We go outside to the rose garden.  
  
His partner, Fulvia Cardew, is standing beside a small greenhouse. She looks at me like I'm a particularly disgusting lab specimen. She leads us to a little greenhouse that's locked with a padlock.  
  
"This is one of President Snow's private greenhouses," Plutarch gushes. "Who knows what secret things are talked about in here?"  
  
In other words, Snow doesn't bug his own sanctuaries.  
  
Fulvia pulls out a key and opens the lock. We go in.  
  
"You sure?" I ask.  
  
"Oh, yeah," Plutarch says. "Fulvia and I have met with several people here. There's no monitoring at all. Is Katniss ready?"  
  
I sigh. "No. Not even close. We need to get her trust, and we can't just jump into asking her to pull off a performance. She's been doing one for the last two weeks, and she's exhausted."  
  
"She seems chipper enough to me," Fulvia says coolly. "But you haven't even brought the subject up, have you? Do I need to remind you how important it is to create a symbol for people to rally around?"  
  
"They have the mockingjay."  
  
"A gold pin doesn't have a voice," Plutarch says dismissively. "Katniss Everdeen does. _She_ is our mockingjay."  
  
"She's a scared sixteen-year-old girl. She doesn't have any more reason to trust the rebellion than she has to trust Snow."  
  
Fulvia hisses unpleasantly at a file folder in her arms.  
  
"Look, lady," I say, "I may not be a Capitol expert in psychological warfare, but I know Katniss, which is more than either of you can say."  
  
"Is your loyalty to the rebellion?" Fulvia asks. "Or are you going to break if someone threatens the girl?"  
  
" _The girl_ has been threatened a lot," I say. "And the girl, and the boy, and all the rest of the tributes are why I'm loyal. That doesn't mean I'm just going to hand her over to you people."  
  
Fulvia starts to argue, but Plutarch touches her shoulder and says, "No, Haymitch is right. Katniss will need to know us if she's going to help us. If he thinks our plan to introduce her into the rebellion is premature, then we will trust his judgment."  
  
"But, Plutarch - "  
  
"If she's not in, though," he says regretfully, "then she needs to be _out_ until she's ready."  
  
"I know," I grumble. "So, she gets nothing until I think she's ready for everything."  
  
"Well, maybe we can start getting her to trust us," Fulvia says. "Just little things, so that when she does come in, we don't have to convince her every time."  
  
"What do you suggest?" Plutarch asks.  
  
"She'll be a mentor," Fulvia says. "Slip her a hint about the arena."  
  
"What _is_ the arena?" I ask.  
  
Plutarch shakes his finger playfully and says, "Now, now, it's not your trust I need to gain. But I'll tell you this: We're nearly out of time."  
  
With this, he scurries out. Fulvia follows. I am left alone in Snow's greenhouse.  
  
I wander it for a few minutes, drowning in the strong smell of his roses. There doesn't seem to be anything in here that would be useful to anyone. I can't see why he'd bother keeping it locked, unless he's worried that someone will stab him with his pruning shears. This idea has its merits.  
  
"How did you get in here?"  
  
I look up. Two Capitol attendants are standing at the door of the greenhouse. I make a show of smelling a rose, then slur, "I just came in. The flowers are so pretty."  
  
"The door was locked, Mr. Abernathy."  
  
"It wasn't when I came in!" I say indignantly. This is, technically, true, since Fulvia unlocked it.  
  
"Come with us."  
  
"I'm supposed to be at the party," I say. "My tributes are in there."  
  
"They'll survive without you."  
  
A cold finger of fear touches the base of my spine. "We have to leave by one. Effie will be upset."  
  
"Oh, we'll have you back to Momma before bedtime," one of the attendants says, his eyes twinkling. "But for now, you'll come with us."  
  
I debate grabbing the pruning shears and making a run for it. There's not a bad chance of getting away if they're surprised. Open the scissors, slice across the throat of the one on the right, and stab the other while he's still in shock.  
  
At which point, they'd notice that two Capitol attendants are dead and the District Twelve mentor is missing. Katniss and Peeta would be dragged in for questioning. Probably Effie as well.  
  
I sigh and let them cuff me. As Chaff put it when he started sneaking me into District Eleven, If I die, I'm dead. There will still be people left.  
  
I'm marched across the garden into an old part of the mansion that's not used for social occasions. A rich red carpet silences our footsteps as we cross between dark, wood-paneled walls to an ornate set of double doors. One of the attendants knocks.  
  
From the other side of the doors, someone says, "Come."  
  
I know that voice.  
  
The doors open, and I see Snow. He is sitting across the table from a little girl of nine years or so. She is wearing a party dress, and has her hair in a wild spill of ringlets. They are building a tower of blocks, and they both seem calm and happy, like any other family. It seems like a very strange thing to see Snow do.  
  
"Sir," the attendant says, "we found Mr. Abernathy in your private greenhouse. He claims the door was unlocked."  
  
"Ah, interesting," Snow says. "I always lock that greenhouse." He looks at the little girl, then at the attendants. "Please let me speak to Mr. Abernathy alone," he says. "If you wouldn't mind, I think my granddaughter might enjoy the party. Perhaps you could even give her a glimpse of our guests of honor. Would you like that, Prisca? Would you like to see the Girl on Fire?"  
  
The girl shakes her head and rolls her eyes hugely. "Gampy, the boy was on fire, too."  
  
"So he was, so he was. Why don't you go with Balbus and Hadrian? Gampy needs to have a conversation with Mr. Abernathy."  
  
The attendants lead Prisca away and close the door behind them.  
  
"My granddaughter," Snow says. "I intend for her to live in a stable world."  
  
"Then maybe you should shut down the arenas. Life's not real secure when kids can get thrown into a killing pit."  
  
"Ah, but it's so much less bloodshed than the war caused. Do you know how many tributes have died since the games began, Mr. Abernathy?"  
  
"Seventeen-hundred and twenty-five," I tell him quickly. I've done this math in my head. Seventy two years of twenty-three kids dying, twenty-two in last year's, and of course, forty-seven in my year. "I can name the last twenty-four years' worth, if you want."  
  
"That won't be necessary. I have any number of records. Seventeen-hundred and twenty-five. Less than one tenth of one percent the number that died during the uprisings."  
  
"It's not really comparable."  
  
He sits down behind his desk and examines me over steepled fingers. "Your school records were impressive," he says. "As were the tests on your intelligence that we ran after your Games. Quite off the charts. What a pity you've chosen to pickle your brain in alcohol and sedition. Speaking of which" -- he pulls out a crystal decanter of whiskey and pours two glasses -- "would you care for a drink?"  
  
I take the glass, but wait to see if he drinks his first.  
  
He smiles faintly and takes a good, large swallow. "Who let you into my greenhouse, Mr. Abernathy?"  
  
"No one. It was open."  
  
"I have traitors even here in the Capitol. We've found traces of their activities."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
He takes another swallow of his drink, and still seems fine. "Oh, no, I don't think you'll be checking back with your friends to tell them where to be careful." He gives me a frustrated look and says, "Oh, please, Mr. Abernathy, if you don't trust the drink I gave you, take mine." He grabs the glass out of my hand and puts his own in it. Then he takes a long drink.  
  
I drink. I know I shouldn’t, but the smell of it... this is the good stuff.  
  
"Now, tell me, who let you in?"  
  
I blink my eyes. The room is getting suddenly watery. I take another drink. "I told you. It was open."  
  
"I don't believe you. And I think you'll find it in your interest to answer me truthfully."  
  
I finish off the drink. There is something gritty at the bottom of the cup. I look up. "What...?"  
  
Snow pulls out a vial of something clear. "I suggest you answer me, Mr. Abernathy. The poison in the cup isn't quite as quick as the berries your young friends had, but if you don't get an antidote soon... well, it would be unfortunate."  
  
So this is it. He must have taken the antidote himself.  
  
 _There is no antidote. He won't let you live to report on this._  
  
The room spins. "Door was open," I say again.  
  
"I know it wasn't Miss Everdeen. She's in plain view."  
  
"Katniss doesn't know anything. Neither does Peeta, before you ask." My gorge starts to rise, and the pattern on Snow's carpet starts writhing beneath my feet.  
  
"Then who does? Who opened the door, Mr. Abernathy?"  
  
The room is now spinning, the lights turning into jagged pinwheels in the air. "It was open," I say.  
  
"Very well," Snow says. "A pity. I'll send my attendants to find you when it's time to leave. It's such a shame, the toll too much drinking can take on the body."  
  
I fall out of the chair and onto the floor, my body a boat in storm-tossed seas strangling in the floral carpet.  
  
Snow steps over me.  
  
I black out before he even leaves the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch recovers from his poisoning and returns to Twelve, where he finds an unexpected ally.

**Chapter Six**  
As the world disappears around me, I go to the place I have always known I'd end up, the only place I _could_ end up, because I have never really left.  
  
The arena is the most beautiful place I have ever been: sprawling vistas to snowy mountains, green and leafy shadows, giant flowers in colors I never dreamed existed. There is something soft and perfumed in the air. It is so far from my dirty, grubby shack in District Twelve -- and I am so far from my filthy, grubby self -- that I think for a moment that I may already be dead, that I stepped off the platform early and was blown to bits (or maybe I have swallowed poison, and it's killing me now). I have heard some of the miners singing old songs about the "promised land," where people used to believe they'd go when they died (for the miners, this belief is a source of great amusement, though they like the songs), and here, it seems real.  
  
For an instant.  
  
Then I see the others, our vast circle around the Cornucopia. They are still distracted. I give up ideas of paradise, and run for the weapons.  
  
I have gotten halfway to the Cornucopia when I feel the thorns tearing at my ankles. I look down. There are wild roses pulling at me, winding around my legs, dragging me down into the earth. Maysilee Donner grabs a knife and severs my arm when I reach out to her. Beech Berryhill laughs through the hole that's been opened in his throat and throws my arm at me as I'm dragged further from them. Gilla Callan lies in pieces near the thorns. She smiles and says, "Knew you'd never last." Peeta is there, trying to put her back together, but she doesn't seem to care. Katniss is gathering arrows.  
  
The thorns creep up over my face, stabbing me, and suddenly I am thrown downward, down into the place where the prep chambers should be. Instead, I am at the volcano, standing on a rock above the lava, watching half of the Career pack burn to death. One of them is Finnick Odair, and he winks as the flames sweep through his hair. I look up and see Plutarch Heavensbee, a mockingjay perched on his head. "A gold pin doesn't have a voice," he says, then he's Katniss, and she has her mockingjay pin in her hand. She reaches out to drop it into the lava, and I scream that she can't, that it's important, that it's Maysilee's and it was supposed to... supposed to...  
  
But I can't finish it. The idea of creating a revolution from a gold pin is absurd, and when Katniss drops it, the lava bursts up in a wave that washes over me, burying me in fire, rolling me down into a fiery mine shaft where Glen Everdeen died. He catches my arm, which has rolled over to him, and re-attaches it with a look of irritation on his face. "Can't you keep track of anything, Abernathy?" he asks bitterly. I never remember Glen sounding bitter, and he was never impatient with me.  
  
The miner beside him is Dannel Mellark, and he glares at me, blue eyes burning from his coal-dark face. "What did you get us into, Haymitch? What did you think you could do? What did we do to my boy?" His miner's clothes disappear, and he is wearing the whites he wears in the bakery, sitting on a bench in the Justice Building, which is also my living room, and weeping with his head in his hands. "You have to bring him back, Haymitch. I can't… I can't breathe…"  
  
Glen is still there, tapping at a seam of coal beside my television. He has chiseled it into a likeness of Effie Trinket. He holds up his hand and says, "Quiet! What do you hear?"  
  
There's a deep rushing sound, and look over, unsurprised to see that Maysilee's canary (a bird which I tried to kill in one of my finer moments of instability after the Games) is lying still in its gilded cage.  
  
"Gas leak," Glen says, and then he becomes Katniss, wearing her costume from the tribute parade, and the fake fire ignites the gas in the room, and we are all blown up, out into the universe, and I am cold, locked out in the snow, drunk and disoriented, trying to find my way back to my house in the Seam, even though it's not there. Ruth Everdeen finds me and wraps me in a blanket, but the blanket is ice, and when I tell her that I'm sick, that there's something wrong with me, she says, "Of course there is -- you're a worthless drunk, and look what you've done!" She gestures to the ground, where Katniss is lying under the ice, frozen blood pooled out around her head. Peeta is on top of the ice, but he's been cut through with a shard of glass.  
  
"I didn't do it," I tell Ruth. "Please, I didn't..."  
  
"Then who did?"  
  
"I don't know, but I'm so sick, you have to help me..."  
  
"You want help? I'll help you!" She pulls out an ice pick and stabs me in the chest, and she is Digger, of course, Digger with her burned and bloated body, screaming, "I'll help! I'll help!"  
  
The pain slams through me and I yell, and something flickers across my vision, a rich room, a flash of the night sky, Cinna.  
  
Then I am back on the Seam, and sinking into the ice beside Katniss, who turns her head and looks at me. The mockingjay pin is back, and it is stabbed into her throat. When she opens her mouth to speak, a fountain of blood gushes out. She grasps for the pin, pulls it out, then stabs me in the arm with it.  
  
Another flicker of the rich room, so far from the Seam, and _"Come on, Haymitch, come out of it."_  
  
Under the ice, I know that there is an abyss, and Katniss and I are sinking toward it. She is -- somehow -- thrashing, screaming that she doesn't want to go, she wants Peeta. She is reaching up, and he is reaching down, but the ice is too thick, and then it gives, and we are falling into nothing and --  
  
I land on my bed in the train. My chest hurts and my arm hurts and my head feels like I've been suddenly sobered up after a three week binge. Cinna is sitting in the velvet chair by the window. Valentine the medic is standing by my bed with a large syringe. She gives me a look that manages to be even colder than the one Ruth Everdeen gave me in my dream. "I don't give you pills just to have you palm them," she says.  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"Effie says she gave you a double dose. They should have absorbed every toxin in the Capitol's wine cellar. Yet you end up drinking yourself just about to death. You're lucky I had more serious de-toxers with me. Effie warned me that you do this."  
  
I grimace. Effie found me the time after Nasseh Rutledge misread my parachute and charged the Career camp in broad daylight. I thought I'd be bringing him home. Instead, I'd listened to his mother berate me after I told her it was my fault. She screamed and wept, and she did say that it wasn't my fault, she _did_ say it, but not until after the screaming, and I knew she was only saying it to try to let me off the hook, so I went back to the apartment and took some pills along with a bottle of fine whiskey. I remember thinking, for the first time in years, of Gia Pepper, and realizing as I fell to the carpet that I was breaking my promise to her, but it was too late. I didn't even really care. I just wanted to get out of the arena. I was exhausted. I wanted to sleep forever.  
  
Effie found me there, and got me out of the training center and to the victors' hospital. She swept it under the rug for the public. She stayed with me, and I think she lost a boyfriend for it. She never mentioned him again, anyway. She was there when I woke up. It was before they broke her. Her hand was around mine, and it was soft and warm, and when I opened my eyes, I saw her face. She'd cried off all of her make-up and her eyes were red and puffy. I squeezed her hand, and went about the business of coming back to life.  
  
But she had no business talking about it to Valentine, though at least she still thinks it was an accident. In the Capitol, such accidents happen a lot. Only a few years later, Mimi Meadowbrook would have a very similar accident, but no one would be there to help her up.  
  
"Will he be okay?" Cinna asks.  
  
"He'll be fine," Valentine says, disgusted. "He'll pretend he's not, but it's just a raging headache, which he's earned. You sit up with him. Don't let him go back to sleep." She leaves.  
  
"What happened?" I ask when the door closes.  
  
"A couple of Capitol attendants found you passed out," he says. "They didn't say where."  
  
I don't offer any information.  
  
"I didn't tell the kids or Effie how bad it was. You were barely breathing. I just got Valentine."  
  
"Thanks. I seem to be alive." This is for the benefit of Snow's bugs, and neither Cinna nor I pretends differently.  
  
There is nothing more to say, at least not on the train.  
  
I stare at the ceiling, trying to decide whether or not to let anyone know what happened. Cinna certainly has guessed, but isn't saying anything. I don't want the kids to know. They have enough problems. I take a deep breath (this causes a wave of nausea that I only barely beat down to keep from vomiting), then lie, "You know, I can't remember where I would've been. I was in the banquet hall talking to some woman about the Quell. I kept refilling my cup. Guess I must have refilled it more than I thought. Everything goes black after that."  
  
Cinna raises his eyebrows, obviously not believing a word of it, but just says, "You need to cut down on the imbibing, Haymitch. I mean it. Those kids need you. Especially Katniss."  
  
I snort, and that's not faked. I've never been the slightest use to Katniss at all. "Fine," I say. "I'm sure it's just a question of will power. That's what all the voices say when the bugs start crawling out of the walls."  
  
"Maybe you need to ask Valentine for a good supply of those detox pills, and actually take them," Cinna says. He picks up his sketchpad and starts drawing, and the conversation is over.  
  
I pull my covers up around me. The pills. Of course. They were in my system to absorb the toxins in the alcohol that they don't even bother to tell me not to drink anymore. They're designed to keep boozers like me from poisoning ourselves. The double-dose must have blocked enough of whatever Snow gave me to keep me alive.  
  
Which adds a whole new nightmare to my list: I now owe Effie my life for a second time. At least she doesn't know about this one. She keeps saving me, even after they destroyed her because of me.  
  
Cinna sits up with me, watching me warily for any relapses while he hand-stitches beads onto a dress. We talk about the districts, as though we've had a nice little vacation. He tells me he and Portia are working on a whole new fire simulation, though he doubts he'd ever use it for anyone but Katniss--that's her signature. I tell him I'd rather not think about who he'll be designing for next. There's nothing to say to this. I want something to read, and he hands me a fashion magazine. There is an article about Katniss's fake designs in the middle. Understated and dignified, and obviously influenced by her brilliant fashion mentor. A picture of Katniss and Cinna among the creations is the first magazine picture I've seen of her looking comfortable. I take a quiz about what flowers I should wear in my hair to highlight my complexion. It tells me lilacs.  
  
I excuse myself to throw up. There is blood in it. Valentine gives me more medicine, and instructs me to drink as much water as I can tolerate.   
  
On my way back, I pass Katniss's compartment. Peeta is there again, and neither of them seems to be dreaming badly. I successfully resist an absurd urge to go in and straighten a blanket around them. I have to be more careful. If I die, they lose a buffer between them and the Capitol. Or between them and the Rebellion, for that matter. I won't leave them to that.  
  
I finally get to sleep again when the sun has risen. I dream of blood and poison, but it's not coherent. I wake up as we're pulling into District Twelve, feeling much better. Katniss and Peeta are up, not looking entirely comfortable, and Effie is giving us our schedule. We'll prep at the mayor's home before a banquet, then we can sleep in our own homes. Tomorrow, a party for the Harvest Festival. Then it's all over until the Reaping.  
  
I'm surprised they haven't added the Reaping to the Harvest Festival, just to make sure there's not a moment of the year when the Games aren't hovering over people. I'm not making the suggestion.  
  
There's not much time at the train station. I notice that Peeta's oldest brother and his wife aren't there, then remember that she's pregnant and due any day, and probably not comfortable outside. The idea that the little baby I sometimes helped Danny take care of (Mir was very little help in that department) is about to be a father makes me feel a lot older than forty-one.   
  
There's about enough time for photographers to snap pictures of Katniss greeting Prim and Peeta straightening his dad's always crooked tie, then we are piled into a car and driven away.  
  
We get to the Undersees' and Katniss is whisked away for prep, though I can't imagine what the preps think has gone wrong with her since yesterday. Peeta doesn't need any prep, but the mayor claps him on the shoulder and congratulates him, then Madge gives him a hug, and they fall into a conversation about shared school friends.  
  
Cinna taps Portia's shoulder. "I have the silver dress ready for Katniss. If I'm not back, just give it to the preps. It shouldn't need any alterations."   
  
"If it does, I can do them. Where are you going?"  
  
He gives me a guarded look then says, in a stage whisper that probably carries to the Capitol, "I think Haymitch needs some air after last night's bender, but I want to get him to the banquet sober."  
  
Portia, who undoubtedly knows more than she reveals, wrinkles her nose and says, "All right."  
  
Cinna leads me outside, talking about my foolish misadventures, and how air will help the headache. I lead the way up to an informal park that the kids use -- a bunch of logs that have fallen near the top of a hill, where they go to have campfires and sing, and probably do quite a few other things when we aren't looking. Even the Capitol wouldn't bother bugging it.  
  
"All right," I say, sitting on a log. "What did you tell everyone? Other than me being drunk."  
  
"That's pretty much it," Cinna says. "It's not exactly an unbelievable scenario." He looks around. "Effie was getting everyone gathered up, and a couple of the attendants dragged you into the kitchen. Katniss and Peeta were there. I was by then, too. I caught you. Your heartbeat was pretty faint and I couldn't rouse you. I told the kids you were just drunk -- I guess they've seen you passed out before?"  
  
"More than once."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's lucky, because they didn't panic. Once they were on the train, I told Valentine I thought you had alcohol poisoning. Detox is detox. If it hadn't worked, I'd have had to tell them more."  
  
"But it did."  
  
"Yeah. I sat with them for a little while so they wouldn't suspect I was worried. Effie sent the kids to bed. She was worried, too. She said you almost killed yourself drinking before."  
  
"I was short a couple of pills," I say. "And she had no business telling anyone about that."  
  
"You scared her. She's a superficial, narcissistic Capitol drone -- "  
  
"She wasn't _always_. She used to be different."  
  
Cinna raises his eyebrows, but doesn't comment on my defense of Effie. " -- but she cares about you for some reason. And about Katniss and Peeta, so she's okay in my book. Don't scare her anymore."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"What really happened?"  
  
I tell him briefly about meeting with Fulvia and Plutarch, and being caught in the greenhouse and dragged in front of Snow. The threats and demands to know who the Capitol spies were. The final realization that I wasn't leaving the room with a freshly brewed antidote no matter what I had to say.  
  
Cinna nods. "I know he suspects Portia and me. How would he not? But we haven't given him anything to latch it onto. He'd never dream that his head Gamemaker is our main organizer. And the others... he's sure he has them under his thumb. The poison didn't make you say anything, did it?"  
  
"No. I held out until I passed out."  
  
"Good. I'll have Portia work out something to test the food when you come back to the Capitol. Make it look like salt, maybe." He sighs. "We need to--" He stops. "Someone's coming."  
  
I turn around. There are definitely footsteps crunching in the snow, coming up the hill. When a figure appears at the end of the path, I first think it's Peeta -- a tall boy with curly blond hair and broad shoulders, it's just what I've come to expect. But as the boy gets closer, I see that his face is just a little wider, his features minutely flatter. His blue eyes are more wary, and his mouth has a twist to it that hints at a potential for cruelty that Peeta doesn't possess.  
  
Still, the resemblance is uncanny. I don't remember them looking this much alike when they were little.  
  
"Ed?" I try.   
  
He nods. "My brother's back?"  
  
"He's at the mayor's."  
  
"Did you bring him back in one piece this time?"  
  
"Two," Cinna says. "But they're the same two pieces he left in."  
  
"You're Katniss's stylist, right?"  
  
"This is Cinna," I say. "Did you need something?"  
  
He looks at me a long time, then shakes his head. "Just going around drumming up business for my new store," he says, handing me a flyer. "You should drop by." He turns, shoulders hunched, and heads down the hill.  
  
"Doesn't have Peeta's gift of gab, does he?" Cinna asks.  
  
I shrug and glance at the flyer, meaning to toss it away. The store is -- like most District Twelve businesses -- not creatively named: Mellark's Hardware. He's drawn a cartoon on it, and his art isn't half bad. It shows a girl with dark curly hair building a house. The slogan is terrible though--"Raise up your savings from eight to eleven." I blink.  
  
Cinna, who has been reading over my shoulder, frowns. "Raise up?"  
  
"I think I need a hammer. Do we have time?"  
  
He checks his watch. "We have an hour and a half."  
  
This is time to find out what's going on, but not to do anything about it if it's important. Besides, the flyer says, "Come tonight! Best deals after dark!"  
  
We go back down the hill into town. Ed has certainly been tacking up flyers, but they're entirely different from the one he gave me. These are showing a sale tomorrow, and an opportunity to learn roof repair from Dorrie Gibbs, a miner I know in passing. She's fixed a few places to make an extra coin or two.  
  
Ed waves to us as we pass him. He's sitting on the front step of the shoe store with his girl, a plain thing with curly blond hair. His arm is over her shoulder, and he looks at her like she's the most precious thing on Earth. I guess all of Danny's boys are romantics, which is something of a marvel, given the relationship they've grown up around.  
  
Ed's girl may not be a great looker, but when she waves, I see that she has a brilliant smile. I wave back and tap my watch. Hopefully it looks like I'm saying I don't have time to shop. Ed nods solemnly.  
  
Cinna and I head back to the mayor's house. Undersee, who was an occasional drinking buddy before I started exclusively drinking alone, hands me a plate of bland crackers and leads me to the sitting room, then heads upstairs. Peeta and Madge have been chatting by the window. They stop abruptly when I come in, and Madge excuses herself to go up to her room. I wonder what it's about, but doubt it's anything that would make it my business, though I've wondered since Katniss turned up with Maysilee's pin if Madge Undersee _ought_ to be my business. Maybe anyone who traffics in Maysilee's things should have been my business all along.  
  
"I didn’t know you and Madge were friends," I say to Peeta, then tell Cinna, "That's the mayor's daughter."  
  
"We hang out sometimes," Peeta says, but doesn't elaborate.  
  
The three of us make small talk for an hour until Katniss comes down with Madge. Katniss is pale and a little jumpy, but she doesn't say anything. Madge is properly introduced to Cinna, and I tell him that she is the source of the pin. Cinna treats her like a long lost business partner, and they are deep in dress talk by the time everyone is called down to dinner.  
  
Merle himself is late for the banquet, but Kay takes over hosting duties. She sits by me. I try, and fail, not to think of Maysilee. This is what she would look like now. The lightly tea-browned hair doesn't change this at all. Kay is Maysilee's identical twin, and I can't see her without thinking of Maysilee, cut open by killer birds. We have avoided each other as much as is possible since I went a little crazy on coming home, and tried to rescue her from every passing pigeon, not to mention Maysilee's caged canary. She came to my house once, wanting a kiss for Maysilee on their birthday, and I was drunk and tried it. We both ended up angry, because it didn't mean anything at all. Because Maysilee was _gone_.  
  
The last time we really talked was on my seventeenth birthday, weeks after a punishment had left her in constant pain. She asked me to let her die if she got reaped.  
  
We are cordial to each other, but she still mostly expects me to snap, and I still mostly expect her to die in agony in the arena. It makes things a little strained between us.  
  
The Everdeens and Mellarks also come, and are given a fair place of honor. I hear Danny tell Peeta that his brothers were invited, but Ed wasn't allowed to close the store, and Jonadab's wife, Sarey, is home pretty much all the time now, waiting to go into labor. Jonadab is staying with her.  
  
"So how does it feel to be an impending grandfather?" I ask him when Peeta goes to dance with Effie.  
  
He looks over his shoulder, then grins. "Don't tell Peeta. I don't want him getting any ideas. But I'm looking forward to it."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. I miss having babies around. They're uncomplicated." He pauses. "You were always good with them."  
  
"Yeah, right."  
  
"You were. I like you, Haymitch, but I wouldn't have let you anywhere near my kids if you weren't good with them." He looks out at the dance floor. "You still are. I don't think I can ever repay you for bringing him home."  
  
I think of Digger on the fence, and Danny patiently cleaning me up, and letting me stay at the bakery with his family. I think of him staying up with me while I had horrible nightmares.  
  
"Thank Katniss," I tell him. "If she hadn't stared Snow down, nothing I did would have made a difference."  
  
"You'd already _made_ the difference in the Capitol. I know that. You made the Capitol love them."  
  
"Peeta did that. You have a hell of a good son."  
  
He grins. "Yeah. That much, I know." He watches Peeta for a little while, then says, "If I ever get my out-district license back, you feel free to order whatever you want." He smiles, then goes over to Mir and asks her to dance. After a minute, I decide to dance with Valentine.  
  
Katniss is deeply involved in her own thoughts, though she seems to be carrying on a conversation with Madge. Other than the families, the room is full of Capitol liaisons, reporters, high-ranking Peacekeepers, and one or two of the "presentable" people who sponsored Katniss or Peeta. (This does not include any of their friends, as far as I know.)  
  
Merle appears about forty minutes into the meal, jovially saying that he had some mayoral business to attend to. He presents Katniss and Peeta with the last of their plaques, and claims that he's been polishing it. He also presents the stylists, the preps, and "the lovely Miss Trinket" with plaques of their own. I'm guessing he's spent some time over the last few months talking to Peeta about everyone's role, because each person's individual contributions are named. Cinna's and Portia's have tubes around them, which he says are for the fake fire, which he hopes they'll put in. He couldn't very well get the formula for it before they came.  
  
Portia teases him that he's not getting the formula at all. Trade secrets. He pretends to be heartbroken.  
  
Katniss leans forward, looking like she means to ask him something, then sits back and says nothing.  
  
After we eat, Madge plays the piano for us. She's very good. I think. I really don't have anyone to compare her to.  
  
At seven-forty-five, Effie declares that we all need to get some sleep after our long and exciting trip. The Capitol contingent has been invited to stay in the mayor's house. Katniss, Peeta, and I will go home.  
  
Except that I have other business.  
  
Cinna says, "Oh, come on, Effie. My work is mostly done, and I've never had a chance to explore. What say, Haymitch? Show me around?"  
  
There are reporters still there, and I resign myself to another round of gossip about who I might be in love with. I nod, and we go back out.  
  
This time, I head straight for Mellark's Hardware. Ed hasn't put an address on the flyer, but he has said that it used to be Fisher's Hardware. I know the way. It's up a hill behind the square, about a block from the bakery. Ed's got it fixed up nice, I'll give him that. It's got a fresh coat of white paint, and he's put a wood stove on the front porch, by a checkerboard. A couple of old miners are out warming up and playing a game. They raise their hands to me, and give Cinna the side-eye, no matter how subtle his Capitol fashions are.  
  
We go in. Ed is behind the counter. His girl is on a ladder, hanging up saws.  
  
"Hey," I say. "I hear you've got some good deals."  
  
"Glad you could drop by. I just got a shipment this morning. All kinds of new things. They're down in the basement. Delly, you want to watch the counter for a few minutes?"  
  
"Sure!" she says chirpily and climbs down. Close up, her smile is even more pleasant. "Why don't you take a sandwich?" She rolls her eyes. "He gets hungry in about two seconds." She goes to a little refrigerator and takes out a sandwich wrapped in a cloth, which she hands to him.   
  
He takes it, but doesn't move to eat it.  
  
Cinna and I look at each other.  
  
Ed leads the way down to the basement.  
  
"Got a big crate this morning, just ahead of your train," he says. "I found some of Dad's old shipping contacts, and I figured maybe we could all do business."  
  
He picks up an oil lamp, and heads to the far side of the room, where a large wooden crate is sitting under the window. There are three holes drilled in it, near the top. Ed goes to it, then ignores it completely and flashes his lamp at the base of the root cellar door.  
  
It opens.  
  
Winnow Robinson comes out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch gets word from Chaff, learns of the District 8 uprising, and is faced with a new threat in town.

**Chapter Seven**  
When I saw Winnow in Eleven, she was wearing starched formal waiter's clothes, and her hair had been forcibly subdued into a bun and imprisoned in a net. Now, she's wearing jeans and a tee shirt that look slept in, and her hair is pushed back an inch or so from her face by a twisted red bandanna, behind which it explodes into an exuberant, three-inch high nimbus around her head.   
  
She looks more comfortable, except that she's shivering in the cold of the basement. I doubt it occurred to Ed, since it's about an average inside temperature for Twelve in the winter. Cinna notices it and, without comment, takes off his coat, then peels off the fine sweater he's wearing, leaving him in just an undershirt. He puts his coat back on and hands her the sweater.  
  
She takes it warily and puts it on, then starts petting it. "What is this?"  
  
"Cashmere," he says.  
  
"It's soft." She gives him a mistrustful look, then glances at me for approval of him.  
  
I introduce them and assure her that he's with us. "What are you doing here?" I ask.  
  
She reaches into a satchel that's resting on her hip and draws out a letter. "That's from Chaff," she says. "Don't know if it's still true."  
  
I frown and take the letter. A rough mockingjay is drawn on it.  
  
 _Haymitch - can't risk the usual means here. I had to have a courier, and it was time to send Winnow away. She blew up a silo. I tossed some of her things into the rubble, so hopefully, they think she's dead, which she will be if they get their hands on her. In case they don't buy it, I'm hiding her grandmother. The McKissacks will be questioned, but they're from entirely different parts of the district, and I doubt anyone knows that they've had very much to do with each other since the Games.  
  
Beetee shipped me information with a new television. Three is actually in. He is surprised. He is coordinating with Finnick; don't ask me how. I can bring Eleven at the same time. The problem is Eight. I am sending Winnow there first. They're ready to blow right now. I hope Winnow can get to Cecelia in time for her to calm them down. If they go it alone, the Capitol will destroy them. I don't know how much control Cecelia has over it, though.  
  
We can't afford to put the Capitol on alert until everything is in place. If you can find a way to get Winnow on to Four, send word to Finnick that that we might have some wildfire troubles. And if he can find a nice ship for Winnow to hide out on until we're ready to move, that would be a plus. If she gets to you before Cinna goes, tell him he needs to get Plutarch to think about getting our friends here before the Games. I just don't know if we can hold it back that long.  
  
Chaff_  
  
I hand it to Cinna and look at Winnow. "Which part isn't true?"  
  
"I didn't read it, did I?" she asks, pointing at the broken seal. "But I'm guessing it doesn't say that Eight blew its stack last night."  
  
"What?" Ed Mellark says. "Are you saying they're rebelling? Already?"  
  
"No. They're having fireworks. And picnics. And hardware sales." She frowns. "What game did you think you were playing?"  
  
"I didn't know we were at the endgame already."  
  
"We're not supposed to be," I say. "What happened in Eight, Winnow?"  
  
"I told you."  
  
"Go back to the beginning."  
  
She gives us an impatient shake of her head, then says, "I got there around five in the afternoon," she says. "Chaff hid me in a flax shipment. I was supposed to look for Cecelia at the school. Chaff said her kids were supposed to be in a concert. Only there wasn't any concert. It got cancelled for mandatory viewing -- Caesar Flickerman?"  
  
"Yeah," I say. "I noticed there were a lot of people watching outside. They cut away fast."  
  
"Do you want it from the beginning or not?"   
  
"Keep going."  
  
"Right. So I couldn't find Cecelia. I don't exactly look like I fit in around District Eight, so I borrowed a blanket from the train and threw it over my head, like I was homeless and just wandering around. There are plenty of those. No one noticed. They were too busy with other things. There was a big crowd out in the square. I figured Cecelia might be there, so I went in. I must have been there through the whole interview. I'm glad Katniss and Peeta are engaged! I think Thresh would be, too, if he couldn't be here himself." She smiles eagerly, seeming quite genuinely delighted at this development. Ed frowns, and I wonder what he's been hearing from Peeta over the last few months.   
  
"I'll pass along your good wishes," I lie. "What happened?"  
  
"I noticed that a lot of the people out there were pretty young. Not kids, but our age." She nods to Ed. "There were some factory workers, too. Not old. I didn't see any old people or little kids, which seemed a little weird. Usually there are a lot at the public viewings, at least in Eleven. They play games. Then when Peeta proposed, it was like a dance everyone had been practicing. People up front started cheering and holding up signs and things to block the cameras, then everyone else rushed the communication towers. They took the Peacekeepers by surprise. They took communications and the Justice Building, and the train station. They even took the freight train. They stuck the Peacekeepers in jail. They said I could ride right up in a train car if I wanted, but I figured I'd better look like a shipment when I got switched over to the coal train. A boy named Jakob put me in the box, with lots of pillows and some water and a sandwich. It was much better than the ride out from Eleven."  
  
"A real vacation," I say.  
  
"Chaff stuck me in an empty fertilizer tank we were sending back to ten. And when I did the switch in Six, I ended up in in a coal bin. At least this time, they left me in my box. Jakob made me look like I was cloth and dress-packing stuff that was supposed to meet _you_ here." She nods at Cinna.  
  
"Sounds much more comfortable," he says.  
  
"How'd you end up _here?_ " I ask.  
  
She shrugs indifferently. "Don't you understand? They _won_! District Eight threw off the Capitol!"  
  
I grind my teeth. "District Eight is going to be overrun within the week. Why do you think the Capitol makes it so hard for us to talk to each other? They can subdue any district on its own. And they'll subdue Eight. Count on it. There are going to be a lot of dead people there."  
  
"They can fight!"  
  
"Maybe, but they'll lose," Cinna says.  
  
She turns on him furiously. "And what does a Capitol dressmaker care? You just worried they won't be able to send you all that pretty fabric anymore?" She indicates the cashmere sweater. "It's not like your kids are going to get thrown in the arena to die."  
  
Cinna remains calm, but I know him well enough by now to see the anger under it. "I don't have any family. And if you think the Games are Snow's only crime, then you don't know half as much as you think you do. "  
  
"People in the Capitol don't know what it's like in the districts."  
  
"And people in the districts don't know what it's like in the Capitol." He puts down Chaff's letter. "We're not enemies, Miss Robinson."  
  
"Fine." She looks at me, frustrated, and shakes her head. "This is good news! Why don't you see that?"  
  
"If it was as simple as throwing a riot and getting a handful of Peacekeepers out, we'd have overthrown them a long time ago. Do you think there haven't been uprisings before? The problem isn't getting people mad enough to fight. We're always mad enough to fight. The problem is that if we don't all do it at the same time, the Capitol will be able to send its entire strength on whoever's misbehaving. We've seen it before. That's why we've been trying to coordinate."  
  
"You're just like Chaff. You talk a good game, but you don't want to do anything. Katniss did something. She held up a handful of berries and everything changed!"  
  
Ed shakes his head. "And if she doesn't watch her step, she's going to get herself and my kid brother killed."  
  
I look up, surprised. "Who told you that?"  
  
"You think I haven't been able to see what's going on? Marriage proposals at sixteen? Come on, Haymitch. I'm not a sop."  
  
"Keep it in here," I say.  
  
"Not stupid, either."  
  
"What is wrong with you all?" Winnow demands. "Are we having a war or a tea party?"  
  
"We're trying to _win_ a war," Cinna says. His anger seems to be gone, and he's using the same gentle voice he uses with Katniss. "And if we blow our strategy, everyone loses. Do you understand that?"  
  
Winnow responds to the change in his voice. I suspect Cinna could convince a lot of scared young girls of just about anything. I'm glad he's on our side. She sighs. "I guess. I just want to _do_ something. I want to stand up to them. Like she did. I feel like I'm falling short."  
  
"It's not a competition," Cinna says. "We're all working together." He tilts his head and examines her. "I can get you onto the train tomorrow. We'll have to sneak you on board with the wardrobe, but you're about the same size as my partner, Portia. If she lends you some of her clothes and wigs, maybe you can switch places with her here and there so you don't have to hide the whole time."  
  
Winnow recoils at the thought of wearing Capitol clothes, and I don't know if they'll go through with it -- once she's on the train, I probably won't know anything. In the meantime, Cinna takes her back to the cars, so she's not seen sneaking in tomorrow during the Harvest Festival.   
  
I stay to talk to Ed.  
  
"How did you get into this?" I ask him as soon as the others are gone.  
  
"I told you. I had Dad's shipping list."  
  
"But how did you get it?"  
  
He sits down and starts doodling absently on a work table, tapping his pencil now and then. "You know he lost the out-district license, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"He feels like he can't do anything. After he saw Peeta's leg, he was… upset. He came over here. I gave him a drink. I probably shouldn't have. He doesn't drink much anymore."  
  
I know that, too, and I know why -- Mirrem told him she'd take the boys and leave if he came home drunk again -- but I don't share it with Ed. "So he got drunk," I say.  
  
"Yeah. And he told me about it. How you used to pass messages on the paper liners under the cakes. How he can't even do that anymore." Ed snorts. "I think he thinks that's why Peeta got reaped, you know."  
  
"I don't think Snow even knows."  
  
"Then why take the license?"  
  
"Most likely to control Peeta."  
  
" _What?_ "  
  
"Snow's most concerned about Katniss, but he knows that people listen to Peeta, too. Especially in the Capitol. A little reminder of who's in charge is pretty much his style." I sit down at an unused work bench. I think about telling Ed that, if it had occurred to Snow that Danny was a rebel, there's a good possibility that the bakery would have collapsed. I decide not to. I think he can figure that far on his own. "So, how did you end up in it? I can't see Danny liking it much."  
  
"He doesn't." Ed shrugs. "But I could do it. It's harder from here -- I can't claim to sell the best screwdrivers in the country -- but it can be done. A month and a half ago, I got an order from Cecelia Frye in Eight."  
  
"Did she… I mean…"  
  
"Yeah, Haymitch, I just forgot to pass along a message." He rolls his eyes. "It was just for some small screwdrivers and a whittling knife. Supposedly, she's taken to building birdhouses. Totally coincidental that it came in right after Dad lost the license, I'm sure."  
  
I have no idea what to say to this.  
  
"Anyway, I told Dad that she'd established the contact. He forbade it, and I reminded him that I'm nineteen, and he can't stop me. And maybe if he taught me how to be careful, I could avoid getting caught. He gave in after a while. I still haven't reached all of them. But Cecelia called a few weeks ago to put in an order for a drill, and she asked if I'd gotten a canopy for the store yet."  
  
"A canopy."  
  
"Didn't know it would come in a box so big." He nods at the crate.  
  
I start to ask how Cecelia would have made a plan like that, if she didn't know Winnow was coming, but I don't bother. She wouldn't need to know the specifics. All she'd need was an order form from Ed, so anyone who needed to be smuggled would have a nice, big box, deliverable to the hardware store. That Winnow came along was coincidental. It could as easily have been used to smuggle me home sometime.  
  
I just nod. "So, why are you doing it?" I ask.  
  
"Same reason Winnow is," Ed says. "They hurt my baby brother. They left him in a pile of mud for days, then made Katniss gamble with his life. Then they tried to get her to murder him because they thought it would be great entertainment to watch two kids who love each other fight to the death. They're rabid and they need to be put down."  
  
"That's succinct. I didn't think you and Peeta were close."  
  
"We're not. We're better now, since he came home. Everyone's trying, but... I guess it's too late to fix everything. He's still my kid brother. I should have volunteered for him." He smiles faintly. "I guess Winnow's not the only one who thinks she's falling short next to Katniss. Delly says everyone does on that."  
  
I don't say anything.  
  
"You want to know the stupidest thing?" he asks out of nowhere.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Dad reckons it's his fault, like I said. I can't talk him out of it, and you probably can't, either. But it isn't. Delly -- my girl, Delly Cartwright -- is one of Peeta's best friends. She told me that Peeta'd been taking on tesserae. That's why the odds weren't as much in his favor as they should have been. He had as much chance of getting reaped as a lot of Seam kids."  
  
"He'd been... _why?_ "  
  
"Some scheme of Madge Undersee's to get food for old people and the Community Home. And to make the odds even out a little bit. She and Peeta, Delly, a few others." He sighs. "I feel pretty inadequate on that, too. It never even occurred to me."  
  
"That's because it's insane," I say. "Don't risk your life if you don't have to."  
  
"Who gets to say when we have to, though?"  
  
There's no answer for that. I say goodnight to him, then go up and say goodnight to the pleasant, smiling Delly Cartwright upstairs. I try to imagine her risking the arena just to give grain and oil to strangers. She wouldn't last ten minutes.  
  
I walk home. It's been a long day, and my body still aches from the poison Snow fed me and from the shots Valentine gave me to clean it up. I could buy a car, but I've never seen the sense. District Twelve is small enough to walk in, and the only times I can't walk properly, I really don't have any business driving, either. Now I wish I had one. It's not just the aches in my body. It's the gnawing fear that we're losing control of the uprising.  
  
I don't care about control all that much, and only an idiot would put me in charge of anything. But Winnow, the kids in Eight, even Ed Mellark to some extent... they're chomping at the bit to get into a fight, and they don't know what they're getting into.  
  
That's why Plutarch wants a single rallying point. A _coherent_ one. A flag for everyone to stand under. I think he'd have taken anyone who was willing to be a symbol. If Thresh had won, I'm sure Plutarch would have found a way to make his mercy toward Katniss into a symbol of the rebellion. He's glad he got Katniss, since she succeeded in her defiance, but anyone would do. That's why he's so far been able to work with nothing but a pin. I have a feeling that if we do get Katniss to cooperate, he'll regret it. It's not as easy to put words in her mouth as it is to put them in the mockingjay's, and if he hands her a script, she'll garble it.  
  
Which is exactly what makes her the right person. We don't need Plutarch's political rhetoric. We need a mute handful of berries, a song to a dying girl, a desperate act of self-sacrifice for a loved one. If all we do is run on rage, we're sunk before we start.  
  
I make it home before midnight and find a bottle of white liquor with a ribbon on it. It's probably from Ripper (she's given me presents before), but after last night, I decide not to take any chances. I hold my nose so I'm not tempted by the smell, and pour it down the drain. Day after tomorrow, I'll replace my supplies. For now, I chew up another of Valentine's pills to keep the shakes away.   
  
I don't want to sleep (the idea of yesterday's nightmare is still pretty fresh), so I pull up a floorboard and pick one of my forbidden books at random. _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ \-- a birthday gift from Finnick, two years ago. I don't know where he got his hands on it. Given Finnick, I'm not sure I _want_ to know.  
  
I finally fall asleep as the sky is turning gray outside my window. It's bright and sunny by the time someone pulls my knife out of my hand and shakes me awake.  
  
"Your phone doesn't work," Peeta says.  
  
"That's because I tore it out of the wall."  
  
"Effie's going to fix it."  
  
"Great. Just what I need. Why are you here?"  
  
He shrugs. "Portia called me and asked me to come get you. We're late."  
  
"Why are you running late?"  
  
"I was awake until this morning. Couldn't sleep."  
  
"Alone?"  
  
He nods, but doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. "Come on. You better get dressed."  
  
I hide my books back under their floorboard and go upstairs to get dressed, then Peeta and I walk out to the green, where the convoy has set up. We're all supposed to look "natural" for this folksy harvest festival. Katniss is having her hair carefully curled and brushed out when we get there, and Cinna has her in expensive jeans and a voluminous white sweater. Her make-up is very carefully applied to look like she has none on. Octavia has moved on to style Ruth Everdeen, who seems a bit mistrustful of it. There is a young woman styling Prim who I mistake for Winnow from the back -- her size, the casual clothes, and the puff of black hair suggest it -- and I am about to call Cinna out on this foolishness when she turns around, and I see that her features are totally different and she seems a little bit older.   
  
I recognize her. "Portia?"  
  
She grins and waves. "Madge Undersee dared me to style myself up Twelve-wise today. Do I pass?"  
  
I inspect her. She is wearing jeans and a flannel shirt over a tee shirt, and comfortable-looking flat-heeled boots. The bandanna around her hair gives away that this isn't a district dare though. It's the one Winnow was wearing last night. I look around the green and spot a girl in a Capitol wig and a short dress and heels getting the wardrobe in order on a rack outside the large truck. Portia wiggles her eyebrows.  
  
"Well, _I_ like it," Peeta says. "You should stick with it."  
  
"I would, honey -- really, I haven't been this comfortable in years -- but I'd never get a job in the Capitol again." She inspects him. "You need to get to Sergius. Your eyes look like you haven't slept in a week. You're supposed to be happy!" She pinches his cheeks and gives him a warning look.  
  
He goes to his preps to be made natural looking.  
  
"Don't I need to have my skin greased up?" I ask.  
  
She inspects me. "You look like you had alcohol poisoning yesterday. It works for you. Get Flavius to lend you some cologne and you'll be fine. I'm having fun with Prim now."  
  
Prim smiles. "They don't style me much."  
  
"And look at this _hair!_ " Portia crows. "We'll have every girl in the Capitol screaming for a long blond wig tomorrow."  
  
I sigh and head over to Flavius. I guess I should have known that Cinna was not going to put a human being in a crate if he could find a way around it. I just hope they don't do a head count on the train.  
  
We make our way to the Harvest Festival at around three o'clock. It's already crowded. The Capitol has provided us with a carnival, along with a feast. Katniss and Peeta are put at a table in a huge tent that overlooks the festivities. I see Katniss scanning the crowd. I'm guessing she's looking for her "cousin." She may have some explaining to do after accepting a marriage proposal on national television. He doesn't seem to be here. I see his mother, the woman I remember most clearly as a girl named Hazelle Purdy, taking his younger siblings around to the rides. She was a few years older than I was, and aside from her cruel reading of my poem, she once did an imitation of me (before the Games) where I was supposed to be pretending to be from the Capitol, only everyone knew I'd never be one of them because of my clothes and my accent and my rotten teeth and the coal dust that seemed permanently embedded in my skin at the time.  
  
Reporters swarm around, many asking why we have our harvest festival in the middle of the winter. I have no idea. I'd say it was put here to coincide with the victory tour, but I'm pretty sure it pre-dates the Dark Days. The best I can do is shrug.  
  
For a forced festivity, it actually goes along pretty well. People in Twelve like their parties, and always have. We're all on the big screen for mandatory viewing. I dance with Portia, who seems to be enjoying her flat-heeled day. At the end of it, Katniss and Peeta do one of their camera kisses, but the camera doesn't linger long. The audience must be getting bored. When it's over, everyone packs up, the screen comes down, and we return to life in District Twelve. I see the convoy to the train station, then head off to find Ripper and start re-stocking my bar. Valentine has given me a supply of detox pills, but I plan to save them for my next trip to the Capitol. At the moment, the plan is to get as drunk as I can as quickly as I can. There's really not much else to do.  
  
I succeed in blotting out most of the next day, though it's haunted by waking nightmares about kids trying to run the rebellion on their own and getting themselves killed. At one point, Peeta comes in and gives me soup and bread, and tells me I should try to sober up before I kill myself. I'm fairly sure I throw up on him, but I don't remember whether or not he stays and cleans it up. I see his light on in the middle of the night while I'm stumbling around, and accidentally end up in his kitchen. He patiently feeds me coffee and lends me clean clothes. I tell him he shouldn't blow things up, because that won't end well for anyone. He promises not to.  
  
By Saturday night, I've gotten back to equilibrium, and am functioning as much as I ever do. I cut down until there's only enough to keep off the shakes. It doesn't help with the nausea. I try Ruth Everdeen on Sunday, after I see Katniss slip out, but she says she's not going to waste good medicine on self-inflicted miseries.  
  
"Suffer through it," she says irritably. "If you want to stop drinking, I have some herbs that will help you through it, but if you don't want to stop drinking, you're on your own."  
  
"Thanks a lot," I mutter.  
  
"And as long as you're here, you're getting a piece of my mind about Katniss. Six different people told me she and Peeta were sleeping together on the train."  
  
"They're engaged."  
  
"They're sixteen. The whole thing is crazy."  
  
"You were practically engaged at sixteen."  
  
"And look what a mess I made of things!" She makes an impatient gesture with her hand. "They aren't old enough to make a decision like this."  
  
I leave. Prim slips me some bland crackers to help with the nausea. I nibble on them as I head into town. If Ruth won't help me, I'm willing to bet that some old party at the Hob has an old folk cure I haven't tried yet.  
  
I don't end up finding a cure. Greasy Sae tries to get me to drink something that looks like tar, which I don't think I could get close to without vomiting. She says that's the point. I think I have better things to do. A girl named Verbena Larson, who usually frequents Cray's back steps, tries to earn a few coins from me. I try to just give them to her, but she says she's not a beggar and moves on to her next target. I look around and notice that none of the usual Peacekeepers are in.  
  
"Cray was here this morning," Ripper says. "Two bottles of my best. And Darius came by an hour ago. Got a message to go to the Justice Building."  
  
I think about this, and guess that the Peacekeepers are probably getting put through drills. It happened when Three had a riot a few years ago. They're probably going to end up putting on one of their little marching shows to remind us that they have a job here.  
  
After I leave, I go over to Ed Mellark's shop and buy a drill. I don't really need one, but if he's going to be a contact, I should probably establish myself as a customer. He asks if the convoy got out all right. I tell him everyone seems to have been on board safely. He invites me to dinner with his family. I decline. If I can avoid Mir, I do so at all costs. I ask after the impending arrival of his niece. He says Sarey is about ready to start doing calisthenics to induce labor. I smile dutifully (I know absolutely nothing about women and babies), then head out, meaning to cut through the square and go up to Murphy's pub. I'm blocked by a crowd that's gathering around the shops.  
  
I don't really wonder what the attraction is. I've had enough dog and pony shows in the last year to keep me for the rest of my life. I start to go around.  
  
That's when I hear the whip.  
  
I'd know the sound anywhere. I heard it a lot the year after my games. They almost did it to me, until Gia stopped them.   
  
I start running along the edge of the crowd, looking for a way in. My headache and nausea crystallize into a sharp blade going all the way through me. I don't know who it is.  
  
Then I hear someone shriek, "No!" The whip comes down again, and there's a female scream. As I push through the crowd, I hear, "Stop it! You'll kill him!"  
  
I know the voice.  
  
It's Katniss.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new Head Peacekeeper has arrived in town, bringing old nightmares for Haymitch.

**Chapter Eight**  
I stop trying to go around the crowd and just dive in, pushing people apart until I get to the front. There is a bloody figure on the ground, tied to a post. It's a scene I saw so often after my Games that at first, I have the crazy idea that it's Elmer Parton or even Glen Everdeen, but it clears quickly enough. All I can tell from here is that it _is_ a boy or a very young man, skinny and black-haired.  
  
In front of him is Katniss Everdeen, her face covered with blood that's gushing from a wound around her eye. A stranger in a crisp new white uniform is raising the whip for another strike.  
  
My instinct is to run into crowd and start bashing people's heads together. I'm angry at the stranger, but I'm even angrier at the crowd from Twelve, all of them just sitting there, watching, doing nothing. All of them except Katniss.  
  
But it won't do any good to go on a rampage. Even victors aren't allowed to do that.  
  
Instead, I bite down on the violent rage and just push through the last few people. I shout, "Hold it!"  
  
The stranger looks over. I come into the square, stepping over an unconscious peacekeeper. I think it's Darius, and if it is, we're in even more trouble than it seems. It means they're purging their own ranks. But I can't worry about that, either. The point is to get Katniss out of here.  
  
This close, I can see that the boy on the post is Gale Hawthorne. Of course. There's a turkey nailed up over him, and I know it could as easily have been Katniss herself on the post being whipped for poaching, since the new man obviously doesn't recognize her and she never plays the victor card. I'm not sure she knows how to play it.   
  
I go to her and pull her up, out of the way of the whip. I look at the wound on her bloody, confused face, and I want to kill someone. Snow, preferably, but I'd settle for the man with the whip.  
  
I can't do it. I do the only thing I can. I channel my inner Gamemaker and say, "Oh, excellent. She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I supposed to tell her stylist?"  
  
The stranger, who I can now see is wearing the Head Peacekeeper's insignia, looks confused, which is a good start. He at least recognizes me, which is one of the few benefits of being on television every year for the last quarter of a century. He looks at Katniss again, some flicker of recognition in his eyes, then straightens up defensively. "She interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal."  
  
This is clearly true, and perfect justification under the law (however ridiculous) for him to whip her. The only thing I can do is keep him off balance with the special treatment victors are traditionally accorded by anyone other than Snow himself. I decide to go even bigger. "I don't care if she blew up the blasted Justice Building! Look at her cheek! Think that will be camera ready in a week?"  
  
The stranger hesitates, and I know what he's thinking. He's thinking thoughts about authority figures who interfere with the Games. He's thinking of people like Seneca Crane. I am banking on him being smart enough to think that ruining a Games-related photo shoot will ruin his career at the outset.  
  
Unfortunately, this one seems to be a true believer. "That's not my problem," he says.  
  
I don't hesitate. I've never played my fame (or the kids' fame) for anything other than money before, but at the moment, it's the only card in my hand. "No? Well, it's about to be, my friend. The first call I make when I get home is to the Capitol. Find out who authorized you to mess up my victor's pretty little face."  
  
This is clearly a serious threat, even though I doubt I'll actually make the call. I don't want to owe favors to anyone in the Capitol just now. But the man doesn't know that. He looks at Gale and at Katniss, then pouts petulantly. That's when I know I've won, at least this round. "He was poaching," he says. "What business is it of hers, anyway?"  
  
"He's her cousin," Peeta says, appearing from nowhere on Katniss's other side. We're only steps from the bakery, and I can see a bit of flour on his hands, so I assume he was helping Danny out and heard the commotion. The three of us are now between Gale and the whip. "And she's my fiancée," he finishes. "So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us."  
  
This tips it over the edge. Not only is the new man interfering with a photo shoot, but he's taking on the darlings of the Capitol audience, the beloved star-crossed lovers of District Twelve. If he interferes with Peeta's protection of Katniss, and thinks that it will get out in any way (which I have more or less assured him that it will), there'll be hell to pay. Peeta understands the narrative he created. He understands the power of it, and he's thrown all of it between Gale Hawthorne and the whip.  
  
Of course, there'll be hell to pay for us as well. Every time we play the audience card, Snow will find it more irksome and treasonous. Peeta and Katniss are both playing to his most devoted subjects, after all, and they're winning. But that's a worry for later. Right now, the beating has to end.  
  
One of the other Peacekeepers I've seen around the Hob comes up with a stunning lie about District Twelve protocols for punishing hunters. She does it so crisply and convincingly that I wonder if she's been taking lessons from Peeta. It works, and the new Head releases Gale and warns Katniss that if he's caught poaching again, he'll be shot.   
  
Shooting would be new. After my Games, our new Peacekeeper, Lucretia Beckett, preferred hangings. Or electrocutions.  
  
I shudder.  
  
Beckett actually came on the same train that brought me home. I guess I should be glad we got six months before Snow decided to put pressure on Katniss. Beckett cracked down immediately. She was responsible for Digger's death, and several hangings, and time in the stocks and the pillory. Kay Undersee has her to thank for the heavy monkey on her back -- all the time she spent on the pillory, often weighted down, did permanent nerve damage, which is why even now she spends most of her time medicated.  
  
It was under Beckett that we started singing "The Hanging Tree" again. I have no idea how old the song is. It was popular during the Dark Days, when the Capitol hanged thirteen rebel leaders, one from each district. It became popular again when Beckett built her gallows. Before the mockingjay, wearing jewelry made from string was the sign we used to recognize each other. It was partly because of the song, and partly because of my district token from Digger. Beckett made regulations about the jewelry and put people in the stocks for wearing it, but it never seemed to stop anyone.  
  
Our rebellion -- such as it was -- never got beyond petty pranks and name calling, but that didn't stop Beckett from treating it as high treason. She had a great affinity for whippings, though of course, she would always accept a "private apology" from boys she found good looking. Cray was her protégé. I believe he's taken a few apologies himself, though not as frequently as he simply bribes young girls with food.  
  
I have a feeling the new man isn't the sort to take "private apologies," though. I think he's more likely to just shoot.  
  
Most of the crowd dissipates before we can get any help with Gale -- scared little mice -- leaving only Peeta and me, along with two of Gale's co-workers, to carry him back on a board we manage to scrounge from an old woman selling clothes from a stall. She makes Katniss promise not to say where she got even that help. I want to hate her, but the best I can do is contempt. Katniss sends a girl to go get Gale's mother.  
  
Katniss's eye is swelling shut, and I tell her to put snow on it as we carry the board back to the Victors' Village, back to Ruth, and the whole thing is coming full circle again. We didn't have to take people all the way out to the Village back when Beckett was in charge. Back then, Ruth Everdeen was Ruth Keyton, and she was at the apothecary shop. She set up in the back yard, and in the summer, we all took turns with fans, keeping the flies off the victims' skin. Glen Everdeen took three whippings during those terrible months, and I'm guessing that's when he fell in love with her. Danny took a brutal whipping himself, for defending Mir, of all things. I sat in Ruth's basement while he was in and out of consciousness, and I memorized every stripe she put on him. If I ever find out where she ended up, I still plan to pay her back for every one of them, before I kill her for Digger. He was the only real friend I had left at that point.  
  
Most of the punishment fell on the Seam, though. By the time it had been going on a few months, someone had clued Beckett in that her life would be easier if it _all_ fell on the Seam, while she appeared to give the merchants "easy" punishments. They'd turn on each other.  
  
They lived down to her expectations.  
  
By the time we're halfway to Victors' Village, it's snowing, and most of the story has come out. Our new Head is Romulus Thread. He showed up today. Gale tried to sell him a turkey (which Cray would have bought without even thinking about it). Darius, who spent most of his free time at the Hob and was practically a local, got in the way, and got a whip-butt to the head for his trouble. I agree with Gale's colleagues that I don't see a bright future for him. If he's lucky, he'll die tonight.  
  
When we get to Ruth, all I have to say is "New Head," and she understands everything she needs to. She sets about treating Gale, ordering Prim to bring her supplies and snow. I start to tell Katniss that she doesn't need to worry, that her mother has always taken care of whipping victims, but she's not processing much, so I don't elaborate. I send Gale's friends home with some money, because I know damned well that the next step is going to be closing the mines. Everyone hates the mines, but closures mean starvation. They take the money.  
  
Gale's mother arrives. She doesn't acknowledge me, but some part of me that will always be ten years old recoils from the possibility that she will start tormenting me. I realize this is foolish, that the last thing she cares about is whether or not I'm acting properly poor. She takes her son's hand and presses it to her face. The cruelly pretty girl she was is buried now under years of hard work and hardship, softened by motherhood and strengthened by trials. She probably doesn't even remember who she was when we were kids. I should probably try to forget.  
  
I watch Ruth work for a while, but mostly I'm keeping my eyes on Katniss, who's becoming increasingly agitated, even beyond what I'd normally expect for a situation like this. It finally comes to a head when Ruth decides to let Gale sleep off some of the pain rather than using her more expensive remedies. Katniss starts screaming and calling her terrible names -- it's the same sort of thing she did when the doctors were operating on Peeta after the Games -- and Ruth just orders Peeta and me to carry her out of the room. Peeta must recognize it as well (for some reason, he has watched those shots obsessively), but whatever he feels about it, he keeps to himself.  
  
We carry her to a small guest bedroom and hold her down on the bed while she thrashes and screams to get loose. I'm guessing that this will be keeping anyone listening in on the bugs busy, so I whisper, "Is something going on, Peeta? I mean, besides this. This is a little extreme."  
  
He nods. "I don't know what it has to do with anything, but there's an uprising in Eight. She saw something about it on the mayor's television. I think she was talking to Gale about it... before. I was just talking to her. She wants us all to run."  
  
Katniss's screams are quieting, so I don't risk addressing this. I hadn't anticipated her finding out about Eight on her own. At least she didn't decide to start a riot herself. Not that us running away would be much better. If she took her mother and Prim, and Peeta, and the Hawthornes, Snow would undoubtedly retaliate against everyone left. He'd most likely start with me this time, and she'd feel duty bound to care.  
  
By the time Ruth breaks herself away from Gale, Katniss has relaxed enough for Peeta to hold her by himself. I'm not even sure he's really restraining her at this point so much as calming her down. I fill Ruth in on what happened in the square.  
  
She looks unsurprised. "So it's starting again?" she asks.  
  
I agree. She starts listing things we'll need to start gathering when the snow recedes. She wants to raid my alcohol supply for disinfectants, and I'll probably let her if it gets that desperate and I have any left.  
  
"I wonder why," she says. "We haven't done anything."  
  
I'm personally sure that it's about District Eight and their riots, but I can't think of anything to tell Ruth that wouldn't reveal a lot more than she should know. I'm spared having to come up with a lie by a sharp knock at the door that panics Katniss.  
  
Well, it panics all of us. I guess we're all imagining Peacekeepers coming to take us away.  
  
Instead, it's young Madge Undersee with a box of morphling vials, probably worth more than a row of houses in the Seam. Kay uses it for her more debilitating pain, and Madge claims she's sent it of her own free will to help Gale. I am skeptical of this after years of knowing morphling addicts, especially since I doubt Kay even knows Gale. Katniss says that Madge knows him, that they bring her strawberries, and I make an offhand comment about how much Madge must like strawberries (trading morphling for fruit is like trading diamonds for a sip of dirty water). Katniss somehow manages to take it as a personal insult. I'm still trying to work that out when Ruth sends Peeta and me home.  
  
When we get to my house, Peeta stops by my path. "He's going to be okay, right?"  
  
"Yeah. He took a beating, but Ruth Everdeen's brought people back from worse. You've come back from worse yourself."  
  
He nods, then shakes his head helplessly. "It's one thing to know something in your head," he says. "It's something else to see it with your eyes."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
He doesn't answer, but looks at me like I'm either crazy or blind. Then he looks back toward the Everdeens' house. "Her life would be easier if I dropped out of it." He turns and heads off toward his place without saying goodnight.  
  
I go inside, not wanting to acknowledge this. Peeta knows better than to actually drop out of Katniss's life. But I guess we both got a real view of how important this other boy is to her tonight. It's something that I never thought about before, and don't really want to think about now. Things are complicated enough without worrying about teenage love dramas, and it's not like any of them are looking for my advice on the subject. They'll have to figure it out on their own.  
  
I go to my newly repaired phone and pick it up. Dial Effie's number in the Capitol. It's not particularly late there, especially by their standards, and I know she'll be up and about.  
  
She answers. "Haymitch! What a nice surprise. Cinna's here. I'll put him on speaker. We were just talking about wedding dresses for Katniss!"  
  
"Dresses? Plural?" I shake my head. "I thought she was just modeling them."  
  
"Well, when Snow announced that we'd have the wedding here, everyone wanted to be in it. They're going to have a contest for what kind of dress she should wear. Cinna's got beautiful sketches." She presses a button and I hear the speaker come on. "Here he is! Cinna, tell Haymitch about your dresses."  
  
There's a pause, and I can almost see Cinna trying to formulate messages. Finally, he says, "I have about twenty different sketches. We'll have some trouble with the fabric for some of them. Industrial accidents in Eight." He pauses, then says, "But the trains are running from there again. Some of the factories are out, though, so I'm not sure when I can actually make the dresses."  
  
I rub my head. Eight's already been subdued if the trains are running, but factories are shut down? What's happening there? But there's no way for Cinna to tell me more. I consider trying to get Romulus Thread in trouble, then realize that all it will do is focus attention on Gale's lawbreaking. I say, "Maybe it's just as well. Katniss had a little accident."  
  
"An accident?" Effie repeats. "Oh, my! Is she all right?"  
  
"She's fine, but she has a cut on her face. It's pretty deep."  
  
Effie makes horrified noises about scars and Cinna tells me to pass on his good wishes for her recovery. I hang up and grab a bottle of white liquor without thinking much about it.  
  
The snow is coming down harder outside and the wind is wailing. We're working up to a good old-fashioned blizzard. Here in the Victors' Village, that's rarely a problem. It'll take a while to dig us out, but there's heat and food, and I can sleep under a thick quilt. Down in the Seam, people will be shivering and starving. They might even envy the miners who at least get to go somewhere sheltered. Mom got stuck in the mines during a blizzard once when I was ten and Lacklen was eight. I remember feeding us snow and pretending it was ice cream. I had our storybooks, and I wrapped us up in all of our clothes and our parents' clothes, and read them to Lacklen until someone finally came to check on us. By then, we were both starving and had raging colds.  
  
Ruthie Keyton from school and her father helped us.  
  
I drink more. Time starts jumbling up in my head, folding over on itself. I am in another blizzard, this one with Digger, keeping each other warm as teenagers have always done during the snow. I am sitting with Ruth while she treats Danny in the basement, and then while she treats Gale in her kitchen. I wonder if she has been dismissing Peeta as I have been dismissing Gale. After all, for her, it is the poor boy from the Seam who deserves a girl's heart. Most of her friends from town didn't even come to her wedding.  
  
Ironically, the only one who did was Danny, whose heart she'd broken into so many little pieces. He was engaged then and waiting to become a father for the first time -- not unrelated life events -- but Mirrem didn't come with him. I'm fairly sure she wasn't invited. The two girls had hated one another quite independently of Dannel, and I have always suspected that going to Mirrem was his way of trying to break Ruth's heart as thoroughly as she'd broken his. If it was, he didn't succeed. She was too brilliantly happy back then.  
  
My head spins, images blurring into each other like the furious snow outside the window. Ruth. Dannel. Glen. Mirrem. Digger. Hazelle. Lacklen. Lucretia Beckett. The whips, the stocks. The fence. Katniss. Gale. Peeta. Romulus Thread. Madge. Morphling.  
  
I don't know when the random memories become unformed dreams, but when I open my eyes, it's morning. Peeta has been here without waking me up. He's left me bread, which may as well be a note, and lit a fire in the fireplace. I think he's also cleaned up some of the litter, which I've told him not to do (I hate it when they act like I can't take care of myself), but I guess it makes sense to remove potential kindling if he's leaving a fire attended only by a sleeping drunk.  
  
For the life of me, I can't figure out why Peeta feels a need to take care of me. I basically left him to sink or swim on his own in the arena, and he knows it. Still, bread. Every day. My fire is lit. I think he even threw a blanket over me, though at some point since he left, I tossed it away. It's lying crumpled on the floor beside the couch.  
  
I do not understand the boy at all.  
  
I pick up the phone and call him.  
  
"I don't think my phone's rung this much since I got it," he says. "Katniss called, too. She says she wants to talk to both of us after the storm blows out." He sighs heavily. "I'm guessing she'll want Gale, too."  
  
I wonder if she's worked out that running away will end up with serious retaliation, or if she just wants help planning it. She might even be planning to run it by me. I hope so. I need a chance to acquaint her with certain facts of life. "How long is the storm supposed to last?" I ask Peeta.  
  
"Television says a few days. You feeling all right?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You were passed out pretty good earlier."  
  
"I'm fine. I was just sleeping."  
  
"Without your knife?"  
  
I look around. My knife is upstairs in my bedroom. I wasn't planning on sleeping down here. "I don't always have it," I lie. "By the way, thanks for the bread."  
  
"Just promise you'll eat it. And maybe some kind of fruit or vegetable. Soup would be good."  
  
"I don't need you to tell me what to eat."  
  
Peeta sighs again. "Yeah. Right, sorry."  
  
I remember that he's not feeling very good today, and I remember why. "Hey," I say, "it's not a big deal. I'll grab some soup. I have some in a can."  
  
"Good."  
  
I feel like I ought to tell him he can talk to me about Katniss or Gale -- whichever of them is bothering him more -- but the idea of dealing with it makes me tired, and I can think of about three dozen people off the top of my head who would be able to give him better advice. So I tell him that he needs to make sure he eats something, too, then I hang up.  
  
Start drinking.   
  
What the hell? Nothing's happening in the snow. It doesn't matter whether or not I'm drunk.  
  
By early afternoon, I'm pretty far gone. The past keeps circling back at me in hazy, half-asleep dreams. Hazelle Hawthorne -- now Hazelle Purdy again, with her flashing eyes and the high ponytail that swishes dismissively when she turns her nose up -- makes an appearance, doing an imitation of me pretending to be Peeta's mentor, putting on airs like I could ever think I had anything to teach him. She laughs at me when I say I understand Katniss.  
  
It's after dark when I keep my promise to Peeta and eat the bread and some soup from my cupboard. Half of it spills onto the carpet, and I leave it alone. The can almost makes it to the pile of trash around my kitchen garbage can, but rolls off and ends up under the sink. It seems like as good a place for it as any other.  
  
I read. I finish _Huckleberry Finn_ , right up through the silly sequence where he re-unites with Tom Sawyer and they come up with a plan for a free man to escape from jail. It always feels a little surreal, after everything Huck and Jim have gone through up to that point, but Finnick says it must be nice for Huck to be a kid for a while again. He thinks that's why Jim went along with it.  
  
I pick up the next one around dawn. It's a Catastrophe-era novel about South America, where the Amazon is overflowing in the north and a hemorrhagic fever is decimating Argentina. The hero is a spy who stole the antidote from the country that released the fever (since no one has ever figured that out, the author is vague) and is trying desperately to navigate her way to a city called Buenos Aires. The reader knows that it drowned when the Rio de la Plata was swelled with rising ocean water, but the main character doesn't know it. I can't figure out _why_ she doesn't know it. It makes no sense. I keep reading anyway. And drinking.  
  
I am awake on the second day of the storm when Peeta braves the wind to bring me baked goods. He makes lunch and sits there until he has watched me eat an entire sandwich and drink a glass of water. I tell him he's a pain in my ass. He doesn't argue. He's also brought me a painting he did of me in the rotunda in District Eleven with Katniss looking up at me. I hang it up in the living room after he leaves, then take it down. I'm not sure why.  
  
I try to cut down on the drinking, watering down the white liquor. It keeps off the shakes, but not the headaches and nausea. I go back to full strength by evening. I forget to eat dinner.  
  
The third day, I almost don't recognize what's different, because it's something lacking -- the wind has stopped howling. The world outside my window is painfully bright and weirdly featureless. I am back at the golden mean -- numb enough to function, not fuzzy-headed. I am relieved. I wonder how long it will be before the line moves on me again.  
  
I call Ruth to check on Gale, who is responding to treatment. Katniss's cut has stopped swelling and her eye isn't damaged.  
  
We've made it through the storm for now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch finds out how much Thread can accomplish in a blizzard, tries to ration his alcohol supplies, and gets a housekeeper.

**Chapter Nine**  
I've barely hung up from talking to Ruth when the phone rings. It's very loud. I'd forgotten that in the years since I ripped it out. I don't remember it being so unpleasant-sounding when it was Mimi calling. I look around the living room, and I'm glad it's not a video connection.  
  
I pick it up, and am somehow not surprised to hear Effie. From the sound of her, she's a few magic pills into the day's stash.  
  
"Good _mor_ ning!" she chirps enthusiastically. "I hear you've had some bad weather."  
  
"Blizzard," I say.  
  
"Oh, I've never seen one. I understand it's quite a lot of rain."  
  
"Snow." They have snow in the Capitol, but only when the controls allow it. Certainly, they've never had a blizzard.  
  
"Oh, of course."  
  
I wait a minute, then say, "Effie, did you want something?"  
  
"Yes! I wanted to talk about Katniss. I called her mother yesterday -- that's how I knew about the weather -- and she said it could take some time to heal up her face. She said it was a fall on the ice. The poor thing! And just after such a lovely trip."  
  
I wait again, but this time don't say anything. Effie can usually carry on these sorts of conversations alone. She doesn't really need to talk to me about Katniss. The Victory Tour is over. Katniss is as much her boss as I am now. I don't really know how other districts handle having more than one district mentor, at least in terms of the authority. I'll have to ask Finnick. It never occurred to me before.  
  
After this many years together, I don't think Effie would think of calling anyone else, anyway.  
  
I can hear her shuffling papers, and almost see her examining a schedule, then she says, "We'll want to have the photo shoot before the madness that will surround the Quarter Quell. We can put it off until late March, I would think. I can send the dresses ahead in about four weeks. There's a great process involved before Cinna puts stitch to cloth on these."  
  
I jump on this chance. "Is there news from District Eight? About the accidents?" I ask. "I mean, will he be able to get the cloth in time?"  
  
"He may have to use some older fabric he has in reserve," she says. "They had a series of fires, you know. That's why they shut the factories down for safety inspections."  
  
I'll just bet they had fires. I'll bet the fire came down from the sky and crisped everything in its path. I don't say this. I doubt the Capitol is done with Eight yet, but if this is the kind of information that citizens are getting, I probably won't be able to piece much together from Effie. "So," I say, "dresses in a few weeks, then a photo shoot in March. Did Ruth think the cut would be healed by then?"  
  
"Hmm," Effie says, and I can actually hear the frustration in her voice. I imagine her pursing her lips and flaring her nostrils. "Well, Mrs. Everdeen said that it will be healed by then if it's healed by then, whatever that means. I don't know how I'm meant to build a schedule from that. I tried to secure her passage to the Capitol for plastic surgery, but I'm afraid that I was turned down."  
  
"I doubt she'd want any surgery," I say. "When is Snow planning the wedding?"  
  
"Oh, these things take time. I'm sure he'll wait until after the Quell. Maybe even right after it, as a cap on the Games. I haven't been told yet. You seem excited about it!"  
  
"I do?" I ask, genuinely curious, as I am mostly feeling nauseated.  
  
"Well, you never ask about this sort of thing."  
  
"I imagine they'll drag me into it somehow."  
  
She laughs. "We'll find a way if they don't. Oh, Katniss lost her father... do you want to give her away?"  
  
"As soon as possible," I mutter, hoping it has exactly the right degree of grumpy uncle in it to amuse Effie and whoever listens in on the phone calls. I am still turning over the idea that Katniss and Peeta are going to be forced into a marriage that they're both too young for as "a cap on the Games," a final amusement for the Capitol after the festivities have ended, maybe during the time that some poor kid will be trying to put his or her mind back together in a hospital after the Quell arena.  
  
I manage a little small talk with Effie, who has no idea what she sounds like to anyone outside the Capitol these days. She tells me about a fashion show and a cruise on the lake with one of our sponsors. I ask if she's seeing anyone lately; she laughs and asks if I am.  
  
"You know I'm saving myself for you," I say without thinking.  
  
"Hmph. Sure you are." For a moment, neither of us says anything. It's one thing to joke about it with the press. It feels a bit different trying it with one another. I decide to think of it as a performance for the bugs. I imagine her standing by her phone, an awkward, confused smile on her face, maybe with a little flush in her cheeks. It's a weirdly attractive daydream, but it's the old Effie. The new Effie is probably just looking through her notes to see if there's something else she needs to consult with me on. She apparently decides there isn't, because she just tells me to try and take care of myself (I never know when someone will want an interview), then says goodbye.  
  
I hang up and take a shower and look for clothes that are at least partly clean. With the weather better and the roads cleared, I'm pretty sure Katniss will decide to discuss her insane plan to run away today.  
  
I'm not wrong. She and Peeta show up just before noon, suggesting a refreshing walk into town. It's the last thing I want to do, but I go anyway. She barely says a word as we make our way between walls of snow. I can imagine cameras hidden there -- in the arena, they'd be perfectly placed -- but I don't really think they're there. It would be too much trouble to bug a snow bank that will melt soon anyway. I break the ice by saying, "So we're all heading off into the great unknown, are we?"  
  
She shakes her head, and I'm not particularly surprised. "No. Not anymore."  
  
"Worked through the flaws in that plan, did you, sweetheart?" I ask, wondering if she's realized exactly what will happen if she disappears. "Any new ideas?"  
  
"I want to start an uprising."  
  
I laugh. I can't help it. She seems so cutely determined, like no one has ever thought of it before. And like she didn't already start a nationwide uprising completely by accident when she held up a handful of berries. She wants to start an uprising. Well, that's good.  
  
This would be, in some ways, the perfect time to let her in on some facts of the rebellion and her place in it, but something holds me back. And if it's not everything, it can't be anything.  
  
I pick up on having laughed and joke, "Well, I want a drink. You let me know how that works out for you, though."  
  
"Then what's your plan?" she demands.  
  
 _Well, it's to do exactly what you want, only with you standing up there in front of it, keeping people from going off the deep end by not being a hotheaded zealot. This will not work if you're acting like the rest of the hotheaded zealots._  
  
"My plan," I say, "is to make sure everything is just perfect for your wedding."  
  
She doesn't buy in, and neither does Peeta. Peeta is, in fact, completely quiet about the whole business. I wonder what he's thinking. I tell her this will never work. And it's true about Twelve. The scared little mice who ran away from Gale's whipping aren't ready for the rebellion. They're rebellious enough in spirit (I doubt any of them are devoted to the Capitol's permanence), but not in action. In action, they want to make sure that food stays on the table, that --   
  
I stop. So do Katniss and Peeta.  
  
During the storm, our new Head Peacekeeper has been busy. He's pulled out the stocks and pillory again, and he's installed a fresh new whipping post, which won't even have the comforting graffiti I remember from the old one. Worst of all, he's set up a gallows. He's not fooling around.  
  
"Thread's a quick worker," I say, and then there is a great clatter and a flare of light. A few blocks away, the Hob goes up in flames.  
  
Katniss turns to me, wide-eyed, the cutely determined rebel gone in a fraction of a second, the real rebel returning. "Haymitch, you don't think everyone was still in -- "  
  
I am not sure, but I say, "Nah, they're smarter than that. You'd be too, if you'd been around longer." I think about my friends there. And about Ripper's still, which she kept by her stall. I want to check on them. And it. So I tell them I'm off to look for rubbing alcohol.  
  
Which is also true. I won't drink it if there's any option, but I'm certainly not giving Ruth my liquor as a disinfectant. I leave the kids to their business, which will undoubtedly include checking on Peeta's family, a trip I am happy to skip. I'll check on Danny later. I have no interest in seeing Mir.  
  
The apothecary is where it always was, around the corner from the sweet shop the Donners once owned and next door to the stationer's that Maysilee was going to inherit from her uncle, except that she predeceased him. Ruth inherited the apothecary when her father died, but the inheritance taxes were hell, and Glen's wages had been cut, and Prim was a sickly baby... she was forced to sell it back to the government, which finally found a buyer four years later. I imagine Snow's lackeys made a tidy profit on it.  
  
The new owner, a perfectly pleasant merchant woman named Lizzabee Leggett, is not a healer, just a shopkeeper who handles medicines and sundries. She refuses to sell me rubbing alcohol, but promises that she'll bring some out to Ruth. I offer to take it out instead, and she laughs in my face.  
  
I am still arguing with her about this when Greasy Sae comes in. She has a shiny burn on her arm.  
  
"Tried to get my best pot out of the Hob," she says. "But I couldn't. The fire went too fast. It melted. Hey, Lizzabee, do you have some salt?"  
  
"Salt?"  
  
"Best thing for a burn. I'll melt some snow on it, then salt the thing. Works like a charm."  
  
Lizzabee shakes her head as she usually does at such local folk remedies (about a third of which work on occasion), and goes up to her personal quarters, probably to get salt from her own cupboard.  
  
"You saw?" Sae asks.  
  
I nod. "Everyone out?"  
  
"Barely. But yes. Ripper lost most of her supplies. She's going to start scavenging new tubes for a still."  
  
"I'll see what I can find for her."  
  
"That's a kindness."  
  
"What happened during the storm?"  
  
"Thread found out that the Peacekeepers had friends in the Hob. Purnia tried to warn us to keep our heads down, but he followed her. Said he'd had it with people thinking they were above the law in District Twelve and packed off all our regulars for re-training. More like being punished, I guess, especially Darius." Sae looks down. "He didn't _say_ it, exactly, but he implied pretty strongly that Katniss may be untouchable, but anything she does, we're going to feel."  
  
"For trying to stop him from whipping a boy to death?"  
  
"Laws have consequences, apparently," Sae says. "And we're all going to be remembering what they are. You remember. I imagine they do it every time there's a new victor in town. Make sure the District remembers who's really in charge."  
  
I don't correct her. It's actually true, at least if a victor has managed to get Snow's nose out of joint. He did it with Chaff, he did it with me, and he did it with Johanna. He even did it with Finnick, though that was disguised as needing "extra security" for such a popular victor. But this time, I think it has a whole lot more to do with the mockingjay that's showing up in every rebelling district.  
  
Lizzabee comes down with a salt shaker and Sae goes outside to get snow. She treats her burn as she said she would, and asks Lizzabee how much she owes.  
  
"It's a gift," Lizzabee says. "You get better, Miz Sae."  
  
Sae nods and thanks her, and we go out into the day together. We manage to find Wenna Barkley, who sells scrap metal she scavenges around town, or did until this morning, and Claude Hudock, whose wife teaches at the school. Claude himself runs a dice game behind the Hob. The house generally wins. The four of us talk for a while about what will happen next. Claude and Wenna are too young to really remember. I tell them to keep their heads down, which is probably what they would have done anyway.  
  
I don't wait for Katniss and Peeta before I go home. I can see them in the bakery, talking to Danny. I go up the road to my house, and find all my hidden bottles. There are eleven. I will have to ration them more carefully. Ripper doesn't have a license to sell alcohol, and she'll end up in the stocks if she's caught. I suppose I could go to Murphy's, but if Thread's anything like Beckett, he'll try to shut down the pub as well. Too many people talk to each other in pubs.  
  
It turns out that Katniss and Peeta have both been stockpiling for me as well, each with what they think of as an extensive collection of six or seven bottles, which they display for me when they come by that night. That'll make things a little better, but they won't just give them to me to ration out to myself. When I run out of my own supply at the end of ten days, I have to ask Katniss for a new bottle, which is humiliating.  
  
She brings it over quickly enough. Peeta is in tow as usual, but to my shock, so is Hazelle Hawthorne. They come in together. Hazelle looks at my mess and wrinkles her nose. I wait for her to start ridiculing me, but she doesn't.  
  
Katniss hands me my liquor, and I drink from the bottle. "Thanks, sweetheart," I say. "So generous of you."  
  
"You're welcome. No more until Wednesday."  
  
Hazelle looks almost as annoyed at her as I feel, but just says, "Katniss, maybe that's not your call." She goes to my cupboard and starts to hand me a glass, then looks at it and says, "Haymitch Abernathy, this dish is filthy. Why are you living like this?"  
  
"Housekeeper's decade off," I mutter. "And maybe that's my call, too." I take the glass, which has a little dried liquor scum in it, but isn't bad. I pour another drink.  
  
Katniss and Peeta give each other one of their conspiratorial glances, then Peeta says, "Well, actually, Haymitch, we were thinking. You know they're going to be in here filming when Snow calls the Quell. And Effie will kill you if it looks like this when she gets here."  
  
"And I need a job," Hazelle says, cutting through whatever persuasive argument Peeta was planning to make. "No one's hiring me for washing, the mines are closed up, Gale can't get us food, and I have four kids to feed. I can make this place look like a human being lives here, and my rates are reasonable."  
  
"Come on, Haymitch," Katniss says. "I'm sick of coming over here and trying to find you under the trash."  
  
"What kind of reasonable rates are we talking about?" I ask.  
  
Hazelle nods. "I think business is better discussed just between the two of us," she says. "Katniss... do you mind?"  
  
They go.   
  
"I'll pay you whatever you need," I say, waving the bottle aimlessly, not wanting to engage her. She doesn't say anything, and when I turn, she's biting her lip nervously. "What is it?"  
  
"Before we talk business," she says, "I have to apologize to you. I was unkind to you when we were kids."  
  
I think of her standing there on the road, her lackeys holding me down while she ridiculed me for putting on airs, pretending to be quality. "It was a long time ago," I say.  
  
"I'm still sorry, though." She smiles. "I ended up with a houseful of smart kids, and I wish sometimes they were doing all that fancy stuff. I think it'd be neat if they were. I think I'd brag about it. Gale's sharp as a tack, but he's never had time to use his brain for school things. He gets mad like I used to. I was hoping maybe Rory would, or Vick, or Posy. But they want to be just like Gale. And I just wish sometimes that..." She shrugs. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I'm real sorry."  
  
"It was a long time ago," I say again. I don't exactly forgive her, and I know she's angling for a job, but it's all right. It's not like it really did me any harm. "Don't worry about it. What are your reasonable rates?"  
  
And that's how I end up with one of my childhood tormentors as my housekeeper, the first I've had in the twenty-five years I've been rich. I pay Hazelle more than she's asking for, but it's not out of charity. I know she just took on a pretty unpleasant job.   
  
It takes her a week just to "dig out," as she puts it. She gets all the obvious trash on the first day: food wrappers, apple cores, things in the refrigerator that have grown mold. She gives me the sharp side of her tongue about letting food go bad when there are hungry people in town, and I tell her she can take anything I haven't eaten down to the community home if it's not at a point of being poisonous.   
  
I have a washing machine for my clothes and a vague idea of how to use it, and she puts everything I own through two cycles once I show her how. Then she lays it all out in a spare room, and tells me I have more clothes than I need, and that's why I can never find anything. Most of it I don't wear. We pick out the things I actually like, and she takes the rest into town to give away to men whose clothes are worn through. Some of the fancier things, they're not allowed to wear. I suggest that maybe I could send them to the Capitol on the next train, for the poorer people there. She looks bewildered at the concept.  
  
What's left fits into my closet and my dresser, once she clears out the empty bottles and old invoices and everything else that had been stored in them.  
  
She cleans up stains in my upholstery without comment. I can't quite look at her during that, and I am sure she'll gossip about it, but if she does, I never find out. The last big thing, which we start at the end of the week, is the carpeting. I've done a lot of damage to it. With things not coming into Twelve very steadily (she says even the tessera grain has been unreliable), she decides not to try ordering a carpet. Instead, she tells me she'll need my help, and we spend a day with buckets and brushes, scrubbing my living room and den. By the time we're done, I am willing to swear on my mother's name that I will never spill anything on it again. My arms are killing me.  
  
But my house looks like a house for a person, as promised.  
  
She makes me dinner every night before she leaves, and on the day we finish with the carpets, I ask her to stay and join me. I'll send home extra for the girl who watches the kids after school.  
  
She smiles -- a fairly rare occurrence -- and says, "Am I being asked on a date, Haymitch?"  
  
It is the last thing on my mind, but I say, "Why not?"  
  
"No." She shakes her head. "I don't know that it's a good idea. I haven't been on a date since my husband died."  
  
"I got you beat. Last date I went on was before the Fifty-Third Games. Unless you count a few gropes in Capitol bars."  
  
"I don't. Weren't you dating some Capitol actress for a while?"  
  
"That was the Fifty-First," I say. "I went on a couple of dates with Violet Breen after that. She was the Fifty-Third."  
  
Hazelle frowns. "Haymitch, do you ever just say how old you were, instead of which Games something happened before?"  
  
"That would require math. Figuring out how many Games after mine, adding it to sixteen… math was never my best subject."  
  
She doesn't address this. Instead she says, "Wasn't there someone here before your Games? I remember that you had a steady girl."  
  
"Digger Hardy," I say. "She… she passed."  
  
"Oh." Hazelle puts her hand to her forehead. "That's right. I'm sorry. She was a nice girl. I hadn't thought about her… about… well, what happened."  
  
"I haven't thought about her either," I lie.  
  
"Until you started being responsible for a girl who likes to slip the fence?"  
  
I don't want to get into everything that made me start thinking about Digger again, in large part because it's tied up with the pressure Katniss is under, which is not something to which Hazelle is indifferent. She barely acknowledges Peeta when he comes with bread, and routinely talks about Gale and Katniss in the future, and how much she's looking forward to Katniss being in her family. She re-hung up the painting in the living room, but lost much of her enthusiasm for it when I told her Peeta had made it. Her opinions on where Katniss belongs are clear and unchanging, and any talk about what really started my old girlfriend haunting my nightmares is likely to upset her.  
  
In truth, I hadn't even thought about Katniss and her proclivity to be outside the fence, but it's as good an excuse as any. I nod, then tell Hazelle, "Let's forget the date thing. That was a bad idea. I'm your boss, anyway. Effie'd say it's not proper. Just stay for dinner. Have some decent food and get some rest before you're back to chasing three kids around."  
  
She agrees to this, and we have a perfectly pleasant conversation, talking about life on the Seam when we were kids. She still sees a lot of the people we knew, though she realizes I don't remember them as fondly as she does. We talk a little bit about the situation in town (Thread has been using the stocks very liberally) and then about Lucretia Beckett. I am not the only one with her on the brain lately. Hazelle lost her younger brother to the gallows when Beckett accused him of trying to have his way with her. I'd forgotten it as thoroughly as she'd forgotten what happened to Digger. We both agree that Beckett likely retaliated when he refused to give her a "private apology."   
  
We talk about Lacklen, and finally about Digger. Hazelle seems to have forgotten that she gave Digger grief about going around with me, and I don't remind her. Better that she remembers her as a nice girl with a loud laugh. We have a glass of wine (she says she hasn't had any for years) and I see that her face is flushed, and I realize we've maybe both been laughing a little more than we're used to. I also notice how long and strong her legs are, and I see her eyes on me as well.  
  
She notices at the same time, and tells me that it's time for her to go home.  
  
She's all business when she comes back the next day to scrub my kitchen, and any other talk is forgotten. It's probably just as well.  
  
Still, I sort of enjoy having her in the house, walking around barefoot and humming to herself while she cooks.  
  
After she goes, I have a few drinks and go to sleep. I dream that I am here, in my clean house, and I hear her humming downstairs. I go down, hoping maybe she'll re-think that date, but when I get there, it's Digger, cooking in the kitchen as she melts into the floor. Her blackened face is running like tallow, and when she smiles at me, her jaw falls off. I pick it up to hand it to her, and when I look up at her from my place on the floor, she has become Katniss, wearing her hunting clothes, carrying a bow. The mockingjay pin is electrified, and lightning arcs across her chest.  
  
I wake up frozen in bed, a scream caught in my throat. The moonlight is coming into my room, and the reflection off the snow makes it bright blue. I barely recognize the place without its piles of clothes. I curse Hazelle in my head for bringing up Katniss's jaunts, but of course, I'm the one who was ignoring them. I'm the one who hasn't told her a thing.  
  
I stay awake in bed, rock still, until sunrise, then finally let myself sleep again. I hear Hazelle working downstairs, but don't go to say hello. She brings me a tray at lunchtime and asks if I'm sick.  
  
"No. Just... just didn't sleep great."  
  
"You want me to put off cleaning your sheets until tomorrow, or do you want to go sleep on the couch?"  
  
I shake my head. "I should get up."  
  
She doesn't argue. She helps me up out of bed and shoos me out of the room while she strips my bed and puts on new sheets that don't smell of my nightmares.  
  
Katniss and Peeta drop by together while Hazelle is there, which is awkward, as even she can't pretend Peeta's not there when he's part of the conversation. Peeta has brought me one of the liquor bottles from his stash. I think about telling Katniss to watch her back, but with the bugs in the house (Hazelle actually found one of them behind the television), it doesn't seem wise. Besides, she says that everyone is scared and no one's stepping out of line. That must include her.  
  
After they leave, Hazelle points out that Ripper is in the stocks again (she's been caught scavenging twice) and I may not be able to get much more white liquor. She suggests starting to water it down.  
  
"What's the point of that?" I ask.  
  
She shrugs. "I've seen a few people get the shakes, Haymitch," she says. "And worse than the shakes. Remember Elsie Gownken? Her heart started going so fast it just stopped itself."  
  
Elsie Gownken, the town drunk before me, has been waved in my face before. I've always brushed it off because there was no chance of me running out of money to buy liquor. Now, there may not be liquor to buy. "Yeah," I say. "I remember."  
  
"Well, you can't just quit straight, or that'll happen. Just start watering it a little. Quarter of the glass the first week. Half the glass the second week. Then drink less often. Least that's what everyone says. I never tried that kind of thing myself."  
  
"I doubt Ruth Everdeen would recommend that."  
  
She smiles sheepishly. "Well... actually it was Ruth who told me to try and work it in somewhere. She says you don't listen to her."  
  
I take her advice, though I only thin today's glasses by an eighth or so. It doesn't make much difference.  
  
At night, I am at the fence, but it's not Digger there at all. It's Katniss, and she's alive as she burns, telling me to hurry up, to get her free before she melts away. She's wearing my district token. The foul slime from her melted skin is all over me, and I try to tell her that she's too wrapped up, that it's all through her now, but she just keeps screaming at me to get her out.  
  
I get up and wander through my hazard-free house, not turning on the lights, trying to get the image out of my head. I go to my pristine kitchen and look for something to eat that doesn't require any effort. I settle on the remains of yesterday's bread from Peeta, slathered in goat cheese from Prim and washed down with undiluted white liquor.  
  
Hazelle finds me at the table two hours and three quarters of a bottle later and gives me a frustrated grimace before sending me upstairs to get cleaned up and dressed. She tells me that Ruth wants to see me over at the Everdeens' place.   
  
I follow instructions. There's nothing else to do. They forget to tell you that most of life as a victor boils down to not having anything whatsoever to do.  
  
Ruth is steaming when I get there. She takes me to the basement, which is supposed to be a recreation room but is never used. Six different wedding gowns, all obviously designed by Cinna, are strewn over the puffy chairs.  
  
"Yeah?" I say.  
  
Ruth looks at me like I'm crazy. "Wedding gowns? Already? They mean to actually go through with this so soon?"  
  
"This isn't news," I say.  
  
"I thought they'd let them have a nice, long engagement. Until they're grown up, at least!"  
  
"You grow up pretty fast in the arena," I remind her.  
  
"No, Haymitch. I absolutely forbid it. Under _no circumstances_ is my sixteen year old daughter getting married."  
  
"Maybe she should be the one to make the call."  
  
"She made the call. These things came last night. I heard her tossing and turning for hours. And this morning, she left!"  
  
My head clears very suddenly, focusing on this. "What?"  
  
"She ran out. She took those heavy winter clothes that Cinna gave her and she left. Haymitch?"  
  
I don't listen to her calling after me. I leave Katniss's house and run for the fence.   
  
I doubt she left from Victors' Village. There are no gaps in the fence here. But still, I go to my garden, to the Cornucopia statue in the back, now dulled from decades of weathering.  
  
To the place where Digger died.  
  
I stand there, closer now than I was then, but with the same sense of helplessness. I don't see her. I can't warn her.  
  
The fence hums to life.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss breaks her foot, Peeta's niece is born, and Haymitch starts to reconnect with friends in town.

**Part Two: Lies**

  
  
**Chapter Ten**  
I have no idea how long I stand at the fence, sobered by blasts of cold air and fear that I'll hear an agonized scream as a sixteen year old girl is cooked alive.  
  
Thankfully, the person who finds me is not our diligent new Head Peacekeeper. Instead, it's Peeta. I don't even hear him approach, which says something about where my head is; Peeta's approach is rarely catlike, even in heavy snow. I don't know he's there at all until he says, "Haymitch?"  
  
I look over my shoulder and say, "The fence is on."  
  
Peeta doesn't pretend not to understand. I wonder if he already figured it out. "I wondered why you came out here," he says. "Dad told me that you don't, usually. I saw you from my studio. Let's go for a walk." He nods for me to follow him.  
  
I take long breaths as we walk, trying to get the image of Digger on the fence out of my head. The fence was never turned on when we were kids, so she never had the slightest reason to believe it would be. For most of Katniss's life, it's been at least a slight possibility. She'll have worked out ways to handle it. She'll check before she touches it. If she wasn't caught on it when it turned on, she's fine on the other side, and will get back however she has done it before.  
  
This manages to make me feel stupid about my panic, but doesn't actually stop the panic.  
  
Peeta leads us on a looping path out into the green, where Merle Undersee's niece has shoveled out all the paths. We end up between high snowbanks, and any bugs that are out here would be hard pressed to hear through that much cover. "When did she leave?" he asks.  
  
"Early this morning. They showed up with wedding dresses last night."  
  
He shudders. "Can I leave, too?"  
  
I think he's joking at first, but his face is pale and set. I frown. "You're getting cold feet?"  
  
"My niece was born last night," he says out of the blue.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Her name's Betony. My brother is someone's dad." He takes a deep breath. "Jonadab seems happy. Really happy. Ed came to get me in the middle of the night. I stayed there. That's why there was no bread this morning."  
  
"I'll live."  
  
"I offered to stay away and keep the focus off of them. You know. The way things are, I'm not a healthy person to be around." He walks a ways, then says, "Jonadab didn't argue. I guess I thought he'd argue, and say Betony would need her Uncle Peeta or something. He's right not to argue. He shouldn't argue. But I thought he would. We always got along. It was Ed I sometimes fought with. Jona looked after me as much as he could."  
  
"You want me to beat him up?"  
  
"No. He's a dad. It's his job to keep her away from things that'll get her into trouble." His face twists a little. "I'm just tired of the grown-up stuff. I want to take Katniss to a dance or... I don't know. Have a snowball fight with her. Sometime before the wedding dresses come out."  
  
"Let's get her back on this side of the fence, then you can have all the snowball fights you want. Though she'd pretty much take you apart with that aim of hers."  
  
He nods. We both know there won't be a snowball fight. Even before the Games, I doubt she ever took time out from her busy schedule of surviving to throw a snowball at a friend. The "grown-up stuff" may be new to Peeta, but for Katniss, it's old hat.  
  
Then I remember that the crazy boy took on tesserae to feed strangers, was forced to kill an innocent girl to stop her suffering, nearly bled to death alone in the arena, and lost his leg. He's not as young as he wants to be, either.  
  
There's nothing I can do about it, so I just hate the Capitol as we walk among the empty houses. Neither of us heads home. On an unspoken agreement, we both head over to the Everdeens'.  
  
Ruth nods grimly when we tell her that the fence is on. Prim pats her shoulder and says it will be all right. No one says outright that Katniss is in the woods, but no one is surprised when a pair of Peacekeepers shows up around three, both of them looking smug.  
  
"We'd like to see Katniss Everdeen," the woman says.  
  
"And who exactly are you?" I ask.  
  
"Rhea Squires," she says. "Assistant to Head Peacekeeper Thread. This is my colleague, Silvanus Brock. Now that we have all been properly introduced, we would like to see Katniss Everdeen."  
  
Ruth snorts. "Good luck. Let me know if you find her. She's been off for hours."  
  
"Without telling her mother where she's going?"  
  
"Have you ever had a sixteen year old daughter, Officer Squires?"  
  
This is a rhetorical question -- Peacekeepers have to remain unmarried and childless for twenty years while they serve -- and Squires doesn't dignify it with an answer. She just says, "I believe we'll wait for her here. To make sure she's all right, of course."  
  
No one even pretends to believe this, least of all Squires, who is smiling in a frankly predatory way. The other one, Brock, isn't much older than Peeta and is so new that the buttons on his white coat are still shiny. He looks like he might have at least a little bit of concern about where a young girl disappeared to on a miserably cold day. I'm sure Thread will root that out of him soon enough.  
  
The presence of the Peacekeepers makes even carefully coded discussion of the real subject too difficult, so we all make stilted small talk. Prim tells Peeta that the wedding dresses came in and offers to show him (making it look like she's teasing her future big brother unmercifully). Peeta begs off, saying it would be terrible luck for him to see them. Ruth asks me how Hazelle is doing, and if I enjoy living in a human house. I joke that I keep thinking I've gone into the wrong place by accident. Prim asks after Peeta's brothers (with whom she was apparently friendly during the Games); curiously, he doesn't share the news about his new niece. I decide to let him take the lead there.  
  
There's just not that much small talk to make in the end. We go into the kitchen and settle around the hearth. Squires and Brock lean up against the wall near the fireplace.  
  
Ruth and Prim start sorting herbs, and I find the chessmen that go with an ornamental chess table that came with the house. The men are still sealed up in plastic bags. Apparently, the Everdeens do not sit around the game table every night. Peeta has never played chess either, so I teach him. I'm not half bad at it, but once Peeta picks up how the pieces move, he's intuitively good. I am somehow not surprised by this. His biggest problem is a tendency to sacrifice good pieces to save pawns, which is also not surprising. I berate him for it, telling him to imagine that Katniss is the queen. I am disgusted with myself for this, but on the next game, he manages to get his priorities straight.  
  
It gets dark outside.  
  
"Maybe you should call her," Squires suggests.  
  
I lean back in my rocking chair and yell, "Katniss! Hey! Katniss!" I shrug and say, "Sorry, no answer. Guess she forgot her leash." I point at the communication devices that Peacekeepers -- and only Peacekeepers -- carry. Wouldn't want regular folks to be able to warn each other about surprise drop-ins.  
  
Squires stiffens and crosses her arms. Brock shifts uncomfortably.  
  
Ruth starts fiddling around with dinner. She asks the rest of us (including the Peacekeepers) if we'd like a snack. Brock starts to say, "Yes, ma'am, if it's no trouble," but Squires gives him a glare and he changes it to, "No, thank you, ma'am." I offer him a chess game after I beat Peeta, but this is turned down as well. Apparently, Thread is cracking down on the Peacekeepers fraternizing with locals. Since I don't want Brock to end up wherever the others have gone, I stop teasing him. Peeta and I start another game.  
  
It's nearly seven o'clock when the door opens. Squires looks frankly angry, and Brock looks surprised. I hear Katniss say hello. Her voice is tight and controlled.  
  
Ruth goes to the kitchen door, holding her hand up behind her to tell us to go along with anything she says. "Here she is, just in time for dinner."  
  
That she's been fiddling with dinner for over an hour should reveal this as a lie, and probably does, but it's nothing that the Peacekeepers could nail to her. For all they know, she was just fidgeting from nerves. The problem is going to be Katniss.  
  
"Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you," Squires says nastily.  
  
Ruth takes the chance to jump in. "They've been waiting for hours."  
  
I tense and glance at Peeta, whose eyes are wide. Katniss is going to have to lie, and there's nothing he can say to get her started.  
  
She manages to come up with a stiff, "Must be an important message."  
  
"May I ask where you've been, Miss Everdeen?" Squires asks coldly.  
  
This is it. I expect Katniss to stumble here, to stutter. Instead, she says, in a fully exasperated voice, "Easier to ask where I _haven't_ been." She comes into the kitchen, and I have to keep Peeta sitting down before he runs to her. Her face is pale, her lips actually white. Her pupils are wildly dilated, and if her jaw gets much tighter, she won't be able to speak. She flings a bag down on the table and looks at us. I see a flicker of relief in her eyes.  
  
"So where haven't you been?" I ask.  
  
At this, Katniss spins a story about trying to find a male goat to get Prim's goat pregnant. I don't know where it's coming from, and it is perhaps not terribly convincing on first telling, but Prim backs her up. Peeta and I, acting like we're here at all hours normally, and not just waiting to see if she's dead, join in and embellish the story. Katniss loosens up, manages to cover up most of the stress in her voice, and adds details about wrong directions, arguments with townspeople, and insistence that we all gave her bad information. Ruth (generally as bad a liar as Katniss) refrains from the game, but doesn't make any wrong moves.  
  
We could have rehearsed it, and probably should have. I don't know where she pulled this lie from. It's like the smiling girl who tossed kisses into the crowd at the tribute parade... sometimes, she just appears and manages things. That's probably why Katniss is still alive.  
  
"What's in the bag?" Squires asks.  
  
If there's physical evidence, it will be in her bag, but I'm not worried. If the fence came on while Katniss was out, she'll have known something was up, and gotten rid of anything incriminating. She empties it to reveal bandages, which Ruth appropriates, and peppermints, which Peeta steals and passes to Prim.  
  
"None of you deserve candy!" Katniss announces with manic cheer.  
  
"What, because we're right?" Peeta wraps his arms around her and she yelps. The Peacekeepers notice, but she covers by making a face like she's annoyed with us. Peeta doesn't miss it either, but he uses their established relationship to guide her gently to a more comfortable position.   
  
He kisses her, and she accepts it, looking at him like he's been naughty, then she looks at Squires. "You have a message for me?"  
  
Squires purses her lips. She knows perfectly well that we're all lying, but no one has missed a beat that she can pounce on. "From Head Peacekeeper Thread," she says. "He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day."  
  
Katniss pushes it by asking, "Didn't it already?"  
  
"He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin."  
  
At this, Katniss doesn't bother to sound jovial. Her voice is coldly sarcastic. She knows that Squires can't pin her on anything not directly said. "Thank you. I'll tell him. I'm sure we'll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse."  
  
There is nothing whatsoever for the Peacekeepers to do. Katniss has now wasted several hours of their time and they have nothing for it. I have an absurd desire to pick her up and carry her around on my shoulders, possibly in front of a cheering crowd. She did it.  
  
Unfortunately, as soon as the Peacekeepers leave, she practically collapses against Peeta, who sets her down gently in his rocking chair. She claims she slipped on the ice, but we all know she's lying. Ruth takes her boots off and discovers a broken left heel, and after a little embarrassing-looking maneuvering, a bruised tailbone. Peeta and I are firmly sent out of the room while Prim and Ruth get Katniss into pajamas.  
  
We stand under a heat vent, and Peeta waits for it to turn on and start blowing hot air around before he says, quietly, "Don't talk about my niece."  
  
I frown, but I guess I understand. If Peeta's brother thinks Peeta is a danger magnet, then Katniss must be frankly radioactive. Still, Peeta should know that if he and Katniss are going to be a family, there will be a lot of interest in a baby born in the family.  
  
And it finally occurs to me that there's more to it than danger. Peeta, who's always been more attuned to the narrative than anyone else, understands this perfectly... and has decided to protect his niece from the narrative itself. There will be no fawning shots of the pretty baby for the Capitol to ooh and ahh over. There will be no questions about when Katniss and Peeta plan to give her a cousin. There may be a rumor that Peeta's estranged brother has a child, but there will not _be_ a narrative, no matter how powerfully he could work it. Betony Mellark will not belong to the Capitol.  
  
I put my hand on his shoulder and nod.  
  
He nods back.  
  
Ruth invites Peeta and me to have dinner. Katniss eats in the rocking chair, and her appetite doesn't seem to be particularly diminished. I wonder if she's eaten anything all day. Prim sits with her after we eat, and they talk about sisterly things (at least what I assume are sisterly things; I can barely hear). Peeta helps Ruth with the dishes. She is tentatively friendly with him, which is the best I've ever seen. She doesn't actively dislike him -- in fact, I think she likes him a great deal -- but she has been distinctly cool toward him, probably because she thinks Katniss is in over her head, which I can't argue with. Now, she tells him stories about his parents in school, and how they were in drama club together. Peeta seems not to have known any of this.  
  
"Dad never even mentioned doing plays!"  
  
"Oh, Dannel was very good," Ruth says. "I used to help him memorize his lines sometimes. Mirrem was the real star, though. She could make anyone believe anything. I'm sure there must be pictures of them somewhere at the school. They must have done half a dozen shows together before they shut down all the extracurriculars."  
  
I doubt Peeta misses Ruth's distaste for Mirrem (which I realize in retrospect may have been because she had to endure watching Danny kiss her quite frequently), but he seems utterly delighted to have information about his parents in some sort of normal relationship. I wonder if either of them has ever told their sons anything. I should talk to Danny about it. About a lot of things.  
  
But I know I won't. Something has changed since the Games. Danny's my oldest friend… but I've started to think of him as Peeta's father, rather than thinking of Peeta as Danny's son.  
  
After we clean up, Ruth puts some sleep syrup into a cup of tea for Katniss. She can't quite walk on her own, so Peeta scoops her up and carries her upstairs. Prim excuses herself to do homework.  
  
Ruth sighs. "He's a good boy, isn't he?"  
  
"Yeah, he is."  
  
"Glen found him wandering around the Seam once when he was about three. He had bruises on his arm." She holds three fingers to her upper arm to indicate what sort of bruises, then takes a deep breath and looks out the window. "Glen was so angry. He took the boy back, and he was ready to have words with Dannel, even though I told him it was that witch he married. Dannel was as angry as Glen when he saw the bruises. She almost died giving birth to the boy, then treated him like that. I'll never understand it if I live a million years."  
  
"Don't tell him that story."  
  
"I won't." She shakes her head, looking after Peeta with a lot more compassion than I usually see. "Dannel left her then, you know. When he saw the bruises. He packed up all three boys, and moved them to the first apartment he could get his hands on. They were separated for four weeks. I looked in on them every day. The boys wanted to go back to their mother. Dannel finally gave in. I don't know what went into it. We stopped talking not long after."  
  
I start to ask why, then I realize the timing. I should have realized it earlier when she was talking. Danny only left Mirrem once. Peeta and Katniss would have been three. Then Prim was born less than a year later. The local rumor mill had a field day. Glen met with Merle and me to give us a mine inventory, and we both heard him lose his temper (a rare occurrence) about the whole situation, and Danny swore helplessly to me on several occasions that there was no possibility that Prim was his.   
  
It had to be uncomfortable for all of them. Glen covered it up by being aggressively friendly with Danny, but Danny and Ruth cut ties with each other entirely. Until now.  
  
Even now, I'm not sure they've really become friends again.  
  
I help her put the dishes away. By the time we finish, it's been quite long enough for Katniss to get to sleep, and Peeta is still not back. We go upstairs together.  
  
Katniss is definitely asleep, snoring. Peeta is sitting in a chair beside the bed, leaning forward onto the pillow, also asleep. One arm is cradling her head, the hand resting on her forehead. The other hand is wrapped around hers.  
  
Ruth sighs and touches Peeta's shoulder gently. He stirs. "You should go home," she says softly.  
  
He blinks a few times, then nods. It takes a minute to disentangle himself from Katniss, especially since she won't let go of his hand, but he finally does. He leans over to kiss her, then looks sheepishly at Ruth.  
  
"Oh, go ahead," Ruth says.  
  
Peeta kisses Katniss's forehead and brushes her hair back. Ruth sighs and leads us downstairs. "I'm glad you were both here," she says, giving us our coats. "Thanks for staying."  
  
"No problem, Mrs. Everdeen," Peeta says.  
  
She thinks about this, then shakes her head and says, "You may as well call me Ruth."  
  
He smiles, and we leave.  
  
When I get back to my house, there's a note from Hazelle that she left me dinner, and will be back in the morning to clean the curtains. I doubt Katniss will be out and about passing along the Peacekeepers' message, so when she comes, I tell her about the fence.  
  
She glowers and starts pulling my curtains down. "Well, not that he'd ever do such a thing even if he were in shape for it, but I'll tell him."  
  
"Are you doing all right? I mean, I ate at the Everdeens' yesterday, if you want to take that stew you made home."  
  
"Thanks, I will. The money helps, but sometimes there's nothing to buy in town. Where's your food coming from, anyway?"  
  
"Direct-shipped," I tell her. It occurs to me to wonder why my food is coming fine when it's not coming to the stores, but then I remember what Sae said about punishing the people for anything Katniss did. I guess this is one more wedge to drive into District Twelve. I expect if I ordered enough extra food to take into town, mine would start arriving late and spoiled, too.  
  
Hazelle works this out without saying anything, then asks me to help her get the heavy curtain rod down. My living room is blindingly bright.  
  
"This is a nice view," Hazelle says. "You should open your curtains more."  
  
I look out. If I ignore the fence and the little Cornucopia, I can see quite a way into the forest. A large rock juts up majestically, and ice crystals make it glisten. There might be a little waterfall out there; I don’t know. But I can't look out there without seeing Digger, looking up at the window just before Beckett turned on the fence. I don't say anything.  
  
Peeta comes by with bread. He's baked extra for Hazelle and her family and tells her that he hopes Gale is feeling better. She seems stunned. He has his paint box with him, and heads over to the Everdeens'.  
  
The next day, I go into town. There are several people in the stocks, including Delly Cartwright, doing two hours, with a sign beside her naming her crime: wearing the wrong shoes. No one breaks the sumptuary laws because no one can afford to, but her folks own the shop, and apparently, she decided to do something rebellious. She is chatting cheerfully with Brock, who seems stunned by her. Ed Mellark is sitting on the ground beside her, his hand on her leg. Delly is far from beautiful, but Ed is looking at her like she's extraordinary.  
  
Maybe she is.  
  
There's also a man doing ten hours for insubordination, which I'm guessing means he mouthed off to the wrong person, and a woman doing five hours for "spreading slander." I ask her what she said, and she snaps, "If I tell you, they'll put me in these damned things for another five hours."  
  
There's a good deal of blood in the snow under the whipping post, but no one is currently occupying it. The gallows are still mercifully unused.  
  
I look for Ripper, but don't find her. Wenna says she's hiding because she was seen scavenging again. Greasy Sae is at her hovel, but she's watched by a Peacekeeper who makes sure she doesn't sell any of her soup. Selling food without a license is also against the law. At this point, I don't even know where she's getting food to put _into_ her soup, and she doesn't offer the information.  
  
When I go past Ed's shop, he and Delly are coming back from the square. She's limping pretty badly, and he's guiding her along. She raises her hand in greeting.  
  
I wave back.  
  
"We're having lunch!" she calls. "Join us?"  
  
I look to Ed, who shrugs. I join them.  
  
Ed makes lunch in his kitchen. He has stale bread from the bakery and squirrel salad. It's not as bad as it sounds, and it's at least feasible that people are catching squirrels in town. He says he got it from a trap.  
  
"I hear you have some good news in your family," I say.  
  
"I'm surprised you found out," Ed says bitterly. "Peeta ran out of the house like he was afraid it was catching."  
  
I think about what Peeta said about offering to stay away, and I wonder where reality ends and Peeta's perception starts. I say, "I think he wants her not to be involved in the circus around the Victors' Village."  
  
"I'm sure that's it," Delly says. "Peeta's not turning his back on anyone."  
  
Ed still looks annoyed, but says, "Okay. Right. It's his martyr complex. Totally not being ashamed of us."  
  
Delly changes the subject. "How are you, Haymitch? We haven't seen you since the Victory Tour ended. And have you heard from Cinna? He was very nice. He said I have a nice smile."  
  
"Well, you do have a nice smile," I say. "I talked to him. And he sent wedding dresses to Katniss."  
  
Ed's eyebrows go up so fast it's almost funny. "They're really playing it up, aren't they? Are they really going through with it?"  
  
"Far as I know."  
  
"Does she at least love my brother?"  
  
"Yes," I tell him, with no hesitation at all. "What about you two? Hearing from anyone?"  
  
"If I did, it didn't get through Thread."  
  
"If Thread stopped something, you can be pretty sure you'd know about it."  
  
Ed stands up, lifts his shirt, and shows me five lash marks on his back. "He said it's about unapproved advertising events. Don't tell Peeta. Or Jonadab. Or Dad. None of them know. Just Mom, and I told her not to tell, too."  
  
I rub my head. The Mellarks are full of secrets. I'd guess if I went one at a time to each of them, I'd get five secrets I wasn't allowed to tell the other four. "Are there baby pictures?" I ask, though I don't really care.  
  
"We don't have a camera," Ed tells me.  
  
"I do," Delly says, and grabs her purse. She pulls out a picture of a red, squalling infant.  
  
As far as I'm concerned, all babies look the same, especially in District Twelve, where the only difference is whether they have blond hair or black hair. This one has blond hair and mostly looks bald. Eyes range from Katniss's silvery-gray to Peeta's bright blue, but I can't tell which one the baby has, since its eyes are squeezed shut. I pronounce it the most beautiful baby ever to have dirtied its diapers, then head home. I see Peeta's light on up in the attic, where he paints.  
  
A few days later, he comes by with bread and a new painting wrapped in cloth. This one isn't for me. He asks if I can find a reason to take it to Jonadab, who lives above the inn.  
  
"You don't think I'll bring unwanted attention?"  
  
"Maybe when the Quell starts," he says. "But I think you're okay now." He unwraps the painting to show me. It shows the baby looking much more attractive than it does in Delly's photo. Jonadab and his wife, Sarey, are holding it and gazing at it lovingly. In the background, Peeta's made an idyllic, woodsy scene, with cute animals and large flowers. It's bright and cheerful, and looks too much like my arena for comfort. He bites his lip, then, with a decisive air, pulls a pencil from his pocket, turns the painting over onto the table, and writes on the back, "Lots of love from Uncle Peeta. Shh."  
  
"I can take it over," Hazelle offers. I didn't notice her come in.  
  
Peeta looks up, surprised. "You can?"  
  
"Yeah. Your sister-in-law's parents decided they need someone to wash the tablecloths after all. I can bring it over with a pile of them. I owe you for helping me find a job."  
  
"It was Katniss's idea," Peeta says, looking down sheepishly.  
  
"Still." Hazelle looks down at the painting, which Peeta has turned back over. "It sure is a pretty picture. The baby's pretty, too. I think your brother'd like you to come see her."  
  
Peeta snorts. "Right."  
  
Hazelle looks frustrated. "If you think any new father remembers anything from the day his baby was born other than that the baby was born, you're crazy. Go talk to your brother." She crosses her arms. "And you know? Bring your own painting."  
  
"You said --"  
  
"And you reminded me that it's Katniss I owe. Now, shoo."   
  
Peeta looks confused.   
  
I just shrug. "You heard the lady."  
  
After a while, he goes. I never do find out whether or not the picture makes it to Jonadab.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch feels closer to the town -- and Hazelle -- as the winter goes on, but strangely, also more isolated from them.

**Chapter Eleven**  
I see Peeta go over to Katniss's place every day, and decide to leave them alone. There may not be snowball fights in the offing, but she's in no shape to do anything other than have perfectly normal conversations, and that can only help both of them.  
  
I spend a lot of time during the day talking to Hazelle while she putters around the house. She wants to tackle the basement and the attic. I don't know where she's got the energy for it.  
  
"I want to earn what you're paying me, Haymitch. Preferably _without_ you turning the first floor into a pigsty every night."  
  
I take her to both places. The basement is a finished recreation room, complete with a pool table that I've never used (I only play chess and the Hunger Games, really), but it's piled up with old sponsor files and Games rule books. Hazelle asks if I need all of it, because it could attract rats. I tell her that I'll go through it. I think we both know I'm lying, but she doesn't push.  
  
In the attic, she takes notice of Mimi's statue, and I think she might even be able to read the word that's written on it. She touches it, then reaches over and touches my hand lightly. I don't know why she does that. It feels a little better than it should, especially up here, surrounded by the detritus of other women I've felt good with.  
  
We go downstairs and talk for a little bit longer. I let her talk me into helping out in town. I can't increase my food orders without raising suspicions, but I can cut down on how much of it I eat, and she's a genius at stretching food further than it has any right to go.   
  
Ruth also contributes, at Katniss's insistence. Katniss has been delivering food around town for weeks and now can't do it herself. Peeta makes plain, sturdy breads that will last. There is no danger that he's cutting into his family's business by doing this -- the people who get these breads have never been able to go through the bakery door. I put all of this into rucksacks, and Hazelle and I take it into town together after she finishes up at my house.  
  
I meet her younger kids at her house, where we divvy things up into manageable bundles. Rory, who's in the reaping now, wants to know about the Games, but Hazelle shushes him.   
  
"No offense," she says, "but I'd like to keep the Hunger Games out of my house."  
  
"I can get behind that proposition," I tell her.  
  
Posey is proudly counting out dried beans from my pantry (I have no idea how long they've been there), bragging that she can make it all the way to fifty beans for each family. I try a few little math problems with her. It's not my strong suit, but I can handle it on a six-year-old's level. The middle one, Vick, wants to know about my house, which also gets a shush for some reason. Gale comes out of the boys' bedroom for a little while. He's still hobbling like an old man, but he says the cuts are mostly healed. He asks after Katniss and tells me that he's going back to the mines in two days, so they won't be dependent on me anymore. I tell him I've gotten a little dependent on Hazelle. He frowns and goes back to bed.  
  
I haven't spent much time with kids too young for the reaping, but Posey takes a shine to me for some reason. I find myself telling her old stories while we fill up rucksacks. She wants to know if I've ever met a real princess. I tell her that I've met a good few, but none quite so pretty as her. She is happy for the rest of the afternoon, which makes me feel absurdly proud of myself.  
  
Hazelle and I take the food out and go from door to door to see who's in need. At first, people deny it, which I expect, but Hazelle keeps at them until they admit that, just maybe, they could do with a bite, which they'll pay for, or trade for, just as soon as they get on their feet. Hazelle suggests that the dandelions will be coming up soon, and it would be a help if everyone would pick them for each other. She can make some kind of soup.  
  
I don't say much of anything. The longer I stay on the Seam, the more I start to feel like a skinny little kid in broken shoes, despised by nearly everyone.   
  
I've stayed away so long that I've forgotten just how hard times can be here, at least in any real sense. I remember being hungry and I remember being cold, but I remember them the way I remember tunes I heard at parties decades ago. I'd forgotten the stench of closed-up houses and sickness, the sunken-eyed death that lurks in the corners where children and the elderly go when they're too tired to keep on living.  
  
These are things I never wanted to remember. The ravenous hunger is past for these people. They often just look longingly at the food we've brought. Their movements are slow and their thoughts murky. The cold is easier to feel than the hunger after a while. I wish I didn't know this firsthand.  
  
The first few days of this routine, I end up giving Hazelle my rucksack and running back to the Village, where I light my fireplace and drink. Peeta comes by the third evening and insists on coming along the next day. He's been hungry in the arena and knows some of it, but there are no parachutes to be had here. Still, this boy who never had to go without a meal outside the arena sits down with the starving, talks to them. They respond. Their families don't. They put up with me -- barely -- because I was once one of them, but Peeta never was. Those who aren't already dying resent the merchants and their supposed good fortune. Hazelle tells Peeta that it's better if he doesn't come next time, and promises that I will sit and talk to the starving.  
  
I have no idea what I'm supposed to say. Peeta tells me I mostly need to let them talk. I do. I stay the whole day the next time, going from house to house, listening to sick old men, giving away the last bit of bread in my sack to a little girl with huge gray eyes. She nibbles it solemnly and stares at me until her mother brings her inside.  
  
There are people beyond her looking out hopefully, but there's no more. They go back in, looking defeated.  
  
Hazelle doesn't come to work the next day, and doesn't send anyone with notice. It's not like her and I worry, so I go into town. I find her in the stocks for six hours for the crime of illegally distributing food.  
  
"Apparently, food needs to be inspected by the Peacekeepers," she says bitterly. "You never know. It might not meet health standards."  
  
My rucksack is confiscated, and the food deemed unfit for human consumption. It's burned in the square. People watch the flames with deadened eyes.  
  
So much for philanthropy.  
  
I collect Hazelle's younger kids at school, so I can tell them where she is. Rory starts bellowing about what he's going to do to the Peacekeepers, and I get him quieted down before he ends up in the stocks beside her, or worse, at the whipping post. If he's old enough for tesserae, which he's started to take, he's old enough to be whipped. Vick is angry at me, since as far as he's concerned, she wouldn't be in trouble if I hadn't had food for her to give away. Posey is just scared and crying. I take them to her, and we sit out her sentence with her. Posey is on my lap for a good bit of it, asking for more stories. Gale will be in the mines until after it's over. I hope he doesn't do anything stupid when he finds out.  
  
She sends me home. I clean my kitchen floor so she won't have to bend tomorrow, then I go looking for something to drink.  
  
The first death comes the next day. It's not a shocking one. A little boy from the Seam, seven years old. I gave him a piece of cheese two days ago, and it fell limply out of his hand. They call it convulsions. Everyone knows what it really is. He is buried with no fanfare, the first of seven such deaths.  
  
The Seam takes the worst of it, of course, but the merchants aren't thriving either. The bakery is hit particularly hard, and I'm quite sure Thread thinks of it as a punishment for Peeta, which it would be if I told him about it, which Danny asks me not to do. They are subject to constant inspections, and Danny says he loses about half his best inventory every day to Peacekeepers who take it away, claiming it is "unfit." Their pigs have been taken on the pretense that they are not licensed livestock keepers. They brighten when I ask about their granddaughter. Apparently, Thread has taken a liking to the restaurant at the inn, and they are doing well.  
  
Mirrem sniffs, "Well, as long as my son uses his wife's name, anyway. As far as I know, Thread hasn't made the connection yet. It's probably just as well Peeta stays away." I raise my eyebrows, and she pales. "I didn't _say_ anything to him," she says defensively.  
  
"She didn't," Danny confirms. "But Peeta's not stupid."  
  
There's no arguing with that. Peeta is a very long way from stupid.  
  
So far, no one has been hanged, though Delly Cartwright tells me that Madge Undersee made a valiant attempt at it, throwing a rock directly at Thread and accusing him of murder. Being the mayor's daughter may have stopped the ultimate punishment, but even so, she spent twelve hours in the stocks and took a lash against the back of her legs.  
  
Ed's store is under direct surveillance. Peacekeepers sit at the checkerboard out front and glare at customers. His taxes will be due at the end of the year, and if they don't back off, he won't be able to make enough to pay them, and he'll lose the place. He still manages to sneak in a message from Beetee, which was secreted in a laser cutter. Three and Four have cut off deliveries to the Capitol, Eleven has taken its train station, and Seven burned its own lumber at the depot before deposing the mayor and throwing him in jail. I slip the message back into the laser cutter, and it is burned when I try it out.  
  
"You picking up a talent for construction?" one of the Peacekeepers asks.  
  
I shrug. "Well, I've been a victor for twenty-five years. Figured it was about time I tried to pick up _some_ talent or other."  
  
He glares at me. "You might want to take your business elsewhere. You're not doing your young... _friend_... any favors." He sneers unpleasantly, and I fantasize about my knife. Better yet, I imagine Maysilee sneaking through the trees across the street with her blowgun and darts.  
  
I drop by the Everdeens' and give a non-specific report on what's going on in town. I tell Ruth not to let Katniss go in. She'll recognize right away that the Peacekeepers are nothing but a pack of Careers who got beat to volunteering for the arena. It won't be comforting. She nods, and gives me some ointment for Madge's legs.  
  
Hazelle is still working when I get home. Since the stocks, she's been a little stiff. I tell her she should see Ruth for something. She tells me she's not going to waste Ruth's time and supplies on a little cramp in her legs. I offer to massage it out. She rolls her eyes at me.  
  
The next morning, I wake up and find her on the kitchen floor, grabbing her leg and crying as quietly as she can. I don't take any arguments. I give her a glass of white liquor and massage her muscle until the spasm passes.  
  
She looks down, ashamed. "I'm usually not so weak," she says. "I tried to walk through it."  
  
"It's not your fault."  
  
"Don't tell my kids how bad it is. Or yours." She nods in the direction of Katniss's house.  
  
"I won't."  
  
"Gale almost went off the deep end as it was. I don't think he'll survive another whipping. Or worse."  
  
"He's not crazy," I tell her. "He knows you and the kids need him."  
  
"He's so angry. I'm more scared for him than me."  
  
There's no proper answer for this. If we had a district full of Gale Hawthornes, we'd be in good shape for a rebellion, but with just one, he's going to get himself killed. I turn her around and give her a hug. She sits with me like this on the kitchen floor for a long time. I'm not in love with her -- that's one thing I'm completely certain of -- but it feels so good to hold someone like this, to feel the heat of her body, the softness of her breast under my hand.  
  
I know if I started something right now, she'd let it happen. I know that she's thinking about starting something if I don't; I can feel it in the tentative flutter of her fingers in my hair. But in the end, we just hold on to each other.  
  
She finally decides to get up, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. I help her to her feet, and she gets back to work on the kitchen cupboards. I go for a walk.  
  
She is waiting for me when I get back. We drink together, and she stays a while.  
  
One of us starts something. It might be me. I'm not sure. I call her Digger at one point (and possibly Effie at another), and she calls me Clay. It's just a physical thing, and I guess that's all right sometimes, though I feel a little guilty about it. We just give each other an awkward goodbye after, and from then on, she makes an effort to do her work while I am either asleep or out and about. We don't talk about it.  
  
As January inches into February, I am called to Thread's office. I take a handful of detox pills along, just in case, but I'm not offered anything to eat or drink. I am sent into the office and two Peacekeepers guard the door.  
  
"The girl hasn't been out lately," Thread says, coming in. "Where is she?"  
  
"She slipped on the ice and broke her heel," I say. "Which I'm sure the bugs in her house have picked up. Her mother is nursing her back to health. I'd be happy to share your concern for her well-being."  
  
Thread glares at me across his desk, then takes out a surveillance photo shot through the Everdeens' front window. Katniss and Peeta are sitting across the table from each other, smiling and talking. Peeta appears to be painting something in a thick book. "What is the meaning of the phrase 'carpenter's grass'? Or 'old man's pepper'? They were discussing these things at length."  
  
"They're plants," I say. I have no idea why Katniss and Peeta are talking about plants, but whatever keeps them happy and out of trouble is fine with me. "Actually, they're names for the same plant. I've heard it called both. Also bloodwort, green arrow, and nosebleed."  
  
"Plants," Thread says doubtfully. "I've had these phrases analyzed by experts in cryptology."  
  
"That was a waste of money. I could have told you what they were. Anyone in District Twelve could tell you what they are. They use it to make you sweat things out. And women use it for something, I'm not sure what."  
  
"And why would your young victors be discussing this?"  
  
"Her mom's an herbalist," I say. "Maybe they're sorting her supplies out."  
  
Thread grimaces, displeased at such an easy answer. "And the boy? What is he painting?"  
  
"He hasn't discussed it with me."  
  
"Mr. Abernathy, I don't care if you're a victor. I don't care if they are. I find it distasteful how people fawn over the victors. They are promoted beyond all reason, and they contribute nothing in return. Some have even fostered sedition in outlying districts. I don't suppose you know anything about that?"  
  
"Can't say I do."  
  
"Even in my own District Two, some of our victors have, shall we say, too much time on their hands."  
  
I perk up at this. The idea that we might have allies in Two, of all places, is intriguing. "Must be real troubling to you," I say.  
  
"It is, Mr. Abernathy. The Capitol rescued the human race from its own self-destruction. It gathered in peoples from around the world, and it gave them a home and purpose for four hundred years. This generosity was answered with violent rebellion, which nearly destroyed humanity again. We have staved off the chaos for nearly seventy-five years since then, but they're agitating again. Perhaps you don't care about the future of humanity -- you seem not to care for your fellow men -- but I do."  
  
"And you think that locking a teenage girl up in the stocks for wearing fancy shoes is going to save humanity? Or whipping a teenage boy over a turkey?"  
  
" _Laws_ will save humanity. I enforce them."  
  
"Oh, sure," I say. "First it's fancy shoes, then full bellies, then the next thing you know, we'll all have personal nukes."  
  
"You despise the law, don't you?" Thread leans over his desk, his teeth actually bared in dislike. "But do remember, Mr. Abernathy, that it is only the law that keeps me from killing you right now. It is only the law that keeps me from punishing your young friends without evidence. Only the law that you so despise prevents true tyranny."  
  
"What if it's a bad law?"  
  
Thread sits back down. "That," he says, "is not yours or mine to decide. You may leave now."  
  
I want to push further and find out which victors in Two are seditious -- I know damned well that it's neither Enobaria nor Brutus -- but it's clear that the interview is over. I have met a few true believers, but they always manage to surprise me. I tend to think of Capitol loyalists as political animals taking the path of least resistance, or as outright corrupt on their own. Every now and then, though, the real crazies come out. Thread is clearly one of them.  
  
There's been another whipping in the square while I was inside, a girl named Olive Hickman, who got ten lashes for trying to sell a quilt she made from scraps of her childhood clothes. The quilt is torn and trodden in the mud. I help her friends get her down from the post, and carry her to Ruth's for treatment.  
  
To my surprise, Katniss and Peeta are watching television. Katniss seems to be waiting for something. I sit and watch with them for a while, and can't figure out what her game is. There's a show on about the glorious history of the Capitol. I'm guessing it's a favorite of Thread's. This particular episode deals with the founding of the first districts, when the Capitol got too crowded. Districts One, Two, and Three branched off into old, ruined cities in an arc around the Capitol, then an expedition was sent to find a city by the sea to bring in more seafood than could be provided by the Capitol's lake. We are reminded that these districts only existed by the will of the Capitol, and only survived due to its largess in their early years.  
  
I somehow doubt that when they get to the outer districts, the directors will choose to show the forced integration of populations that had survived the Catastrophes on their own -- Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen, the so-called Outer Districts. Most of the historical record has long been lost, but Plutarch suspects (and I agree, for once) that we'd developed a competing federation. It wasn't subjugation, at least at first, but "cooperation," to the Capitol, meant obedience. I expect a documentary like this to present the wide-eyed citizens of Twelve as grateful for the largesse of their distant benefactors.  
  
There's a newsbreak in the middle of it, in which absolutely nothing of interest is reported. Katniss makes an annoyed hissing sound and turns off the television. Peeta shrugs.  
  
I walk him home. "What's so fascinating on Capitol view?" I ask when we're clear of the house.  
  
"No idea. I think she's just bored, not being able to go outside. We've been watching a little bit every day. There's actually a really good pastry show. I didn't catch the whole thing."  
  
"Well, you can arrange to meet whoever runs it when we go to the Capitol this summer," I say. "It's one of the few perks."  
  
"Maybe." He slows down. "Haymitch, this summer... are you mentoring the boy, or am I?"  
  
"I am," I say. "You're not ready. Katniss isn't, either, but I'll cover for her."  
  
"How do you deal with it when they...?"  
  
"Die?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Personally, I drink a lot."  
  
"Is there anything that's not your answer for?"  
  
"It's surprisingly versatile."  
  
We reach the walkway to his house and he stops. "What if it's one of my friends? Or Katniss's friends? What if they grab Delly, or Madge? My brothers and Gale are too old, but nothing keeps Prim out of the reaping again." He shakes his head. "They'd love that, wouldn't they? Making Katniss mentor her own sister in the Quell?"  
  
I shudder. This is all too plausible. "Keep that outside the house and away from bugs," I say. " _Never_ give them an idea."  
  
He nods and goes inside.  
  
I head back to my place. Hazelle has left me dinner, and a note that she's finished up with the curtains upstairs. She has also managed to scrounge up five bottles of white liquor from people in town who needed money, and names the price. I will leave it for her before I go to sleep. She recommends that I split it into some of the empty bottles she has saved aside, and water it in degrees. I promise myself that I'll take that advice later. I check the back of the note -- for what, I have no idea; it's not like Hazelle passes messages for anyone -- but there's nothing there.  
  
There's no fresh snow for a few weeks, and the coal dust starts to settle in, turning District Twelve a uniform, depressing gray. A bout of flu goes through town, claiming a few older people (two from the Seam, one from town), and the gallows are used for the first time on a skinny man caught trying to steal morphling from the Peacekeepers' supply. I see Kay Undersee standing on the steps of the Justice Building. Her hands are shaking badly, and Madge leads her inside.  
  
When I get home, there's a note that the phone rang. Hazelle didn't pick it up, as she didn't think it was her business, and wasn't sure if she needed to push any of the buttons on it anyway.  
  
I start eating dinner, but I'm not surprised to be interrupted by that annoying ring. I pick it up.  
  
"Haymitch! Where have you been?"  
  
I rub my head. "Effie. Out."  
  
"Well, never mind. They've moved up the wedding dress shoot for Katniss to the middle of next month. I told her mother, but she seems not to be excited about it, and I'm worried that Katniss won't know."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Now, we need to talk about _your_ schedule."  
  
"Mine?"  
  
"Yes. Once they announce the Quell, people are going to want to interview you. I think Caesar will want you."  
  
"They should go find the first Quell victor," I say. "I saw a little footage of him once. He's better than me on camera. I mean, if they can figure out where he disappeared to."  
  
Effie's quiet, and I imagine her standing there, confused. "Disappeared" people do not come back. "Disappeared" is a euphemism for dead, and everyone knows it, but in the Capitol -- unless a person has been vanished entirely -- they act like the missing might just stroll in at any moment. Effie might have processed my sarcasm once. Now, she just fumbles for a minute, then says, "But you're the one people remember! They've been seeing you for twenty-five years now."  
  
"Right."  
  
She pauses. "Haymitch, are you feeling all right? You sound... I don't know."  
  
"I'm okay, Effie, just not looking forward to the circus."  
  
"Well, I'll be there to get you through all the rings," she says cheerfully. "Don't you worry."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"So, Caesar, of course," she says, then it all fades into a mind-numbing list of shows she wants me on, possibly including the pastry show Peeta enjoys. She promises to make sure they know what not to ask me (though she warns me that she won't be able to get them not to mention Maysilee, and asks me to prepare for it), and to get me my own prep team rather than making me share Peeta's ("After all, he'll only be there as a guest victor -- you'll be the star this year").  
  
"Effie," I say after a while, "you go ahead and set up whatever you want."  
  
Another pause. "Haymitch, are you _sure_ you're all right?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
She waits for elaboration, which I don't give her, then sighs and says, "Is there anything you'd especially like them to ask about? A new hobby? Is there anyone special in your life?"  
  
I glance at the impersonal note from Hazelle, then say, "Nothing and no one."  
  
"Hmmph," she says. "You really should take up some hobby, Haymitch. Have you thought about wood-carving?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, you always sleep with that knife. You may as well use it for something other than scaring the shoes off me when I wake you up."  
  
"Wood-carving," I repeat.  
  
"It's a perfectly legitimate hobby." I laugh. I am not sure what I'm laughing at. "What is it?" she asks.  
  
"You're one of a kind, Effie."  
  
"I love you, too, Haymitch," she says sarcastically. "Think about it."  
  
"Think about wood-carving," I repeat. "And Caesar Flickerman. And not hitting people who ask about Maysilee."  
  
"That'll do for a start," she says. "And try to stay out of trouble."  
  
My dinner is getting cold, but I stay on the phone a little longer, asking after Cinna and Portia (both doing well, had a fashion show that no one understood), listening to her go on about a play she saw about Katniss and Peeta (a musical, of all things). Her birthday is coming up, and she's planning to have a delightful party. It's the kind of conversation with Effie that usually annoys me to no end, but after months of death and starvation and stocks and whippings, not to mention today's hanging, it's actually kind of nice to have a break. Not that I'd ever tell her that.  
  
I finally hang up after hearing about her neighbor's dreadful new "natural" style ("The things Katniss has wrought!" she chirps), then finish my supper. I examine my bottles of white liquor, decide to get through tonight with some detox pills and plain water, and go to sleep.  
  
I dream I am in the Capitol, in Effie's fluffy pink apartment overlooking the lake. Thread is on the television, thundering away about the law. He is holding up a picture of Katniss, explaining how she has undermined everything. Effie is gone. Everyone seems to be gone. The streets are empty. The phone is dead. The world is the arena, and I am the victor again, the last man standing after the final Quell.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch is settling into his life, even feeling comfortable, when Snow's announcement rips away any illusion he has of control.

**Chapter Twelve**  
Ripper appears back in town at the beginning of March, claiming to have seen the light about the law. She says she will be holding meetings for those of us who want to change our evil ways. These meetings will be held in undisclosed locations, to preserve our privacy. We will all know the signs when we see them.  
  
The signs are juniper berries, dropped at intersections. They lead to the abandoned sweetshop, where she's set up a new still. I decide to stock up before Thread wises up. She sends me away with twenty bottles wrapped up in cotton in my rucksack and a pamphlet about the evils of liquor. She tells me to let other chronic evildoers know that the next meeting will be in a new location, next week at the same time.  
  
I spend the next week pleasantly buzzed, until Hazelle threatens to lock my supply up if she has to launder the same pair of pants again. This is an embarrassing enough thing to get me to hold off a little. She takes it upon herself to water three bottles and leave those in easy reach in the kitchen, while putting the good stuff in a high cupboard above my bathroom sink.  
  
I dutifully drink the watered stuff for a week. It doesn't numb anything or make me forget anything, but it keeps the horrors at a little distance, at least.  
  
My birthday comes and goes. Danny and Peeta bake me a cake. Danny stays around for a while after Peeta goes over to Katniss's, though we don't talk about much. He thanks me again for Peeta's life.  
  
"I don't know how I can ever pay that back," he says.  
  
I think about him cleaning me up after Digger died. About staying in the rooms over the bakery, while he and his parents listened to me screaming after nightmares. It all seems more distant than it once did, but it's still there. I was that screaming boy once, and he was the one who pretended to be my arena ally so that I could get back to sleep. I tell him that there's nothing to pay back, and Peeta saved himself. I'm mindful of the bugs, and I don't play up what Katniss did. Danny seems to understand that. He glances at the portrait Peeta made of Katniss and me, and nods without saying anything.  
  
We sit together for a little longer, not saying anything important. Just before he leaves, he says, "Tell Chaff I said hello when you see him. He sent a letter… you know, because he couldn't order another cake. I guess he wanted one."  
  
I look up sharply. "Yeah?"  
  
He nods. "Yeah. Something about Cecelia's anniversary. He was going to send an order. That's when he found out about my license problems."  
  
Since the others in the network have found tortured ways to communicate through Ed's hardware shop, I wonder what it means. For all I know, Chaff could have legitimately wanted a cake. He always liked that particular mode of passing messages, for reasons unrelated to the rebellion. On the other hand, there might not even _be_ a letter. It seems like a strange risk for Chaff to take. The message could be for me. "Maybe I'll bring him one this summer," I say.  
  
Danny nods. "Drop by, and we'll make a deal."  
  
It's not the subtlest act we've ever done for the bugs, but there's nothing for anyone to pin on either of us. I'll drop by to find out whatever he needs to talk about once enough time has passed for Thread to lose interest. Hazelle comes in a few minutes later, and Danny leaves.  
  
Two days later, I wake up in the early morning to the slamming of multiple car doors. I realize that I have forgotten entirely to tell Katniss that her photo shoot is early, and if I know Ruth, she stubbornly refused to discuss the subject. She seems to believe that if she doesn't talk about the wedding or acknowledge it in any way, it will go away.  
  
"What are they doing over there, anyway?" Hazelle asks, breaking eggs into a pan for my breakfast (I have invited her repeatedly to eat with me when she's here, but she hasn't since the afternoon we spent together). "It can't be about the Games, this time of year."  
  
It _can_ \-- when you work for the Games, all year is Games season -- but it isn't. "Wedding dresses," I tell her.  
  
She wrinkles her nose. "You don't think they'll really force that poor girl to marry Peeta, do you?"  
  
"Yes. And they'll force the poor boy to marry Katniss, too."  
  
"At least she's the one he actually loves."  
  
I choose not to engage on this.  
  
My doorbell rings, followed by repeated knocking. From the other side, I hear "HAYMITCH!"  
  
I yell back. "I'm up, Effie!"  
  
The door doesn't open. She knocks again.  
  
"You going to get that?" Hazelle asks.  
  
"It's unlocked."  
  
"Haymitch, you don't have the manners for a pigsty." She turns off the gas on the stove and goes to the door.  
  
I hear it open, and Effie says, "Haymitch, you didn't say a word to -- oh!"  
  
I lean back in my chair and look toward the door. Effie looks stunned to see Hazelle there.  
  
"That's Hazelle Hawthorne, Effie. Hazelle, Effie Trinket."  
  
Effie smiles a bit madly and says. "You... live here?"  
  
"I work here," Hazelle says. "Housekeeper." She gestures for Effie to come in, and for a minute, I think again that I called her "Effie" at a particularly bad moment. If I did, she doesn’t show any signs of remembering it, unless it's the sullen attitude (and I doubt she cares enough to bother pouting, honestly).  
  
Effie looks around my living room, stunned. "Housekeeper? Darling, you are a wonder worker! If Haymitch weren't sitting right there, I'd think I wandered into the wrong house."  
  
"Thank you, ma'am," Hazelle says, then goes back to the stove and starts my breakfast again. The exasperated and emotive woman I usually see disappears, and becomes the sort of withdrawn, sullen face that the Capitol always seems to see coming from District Twelve. They have a great fondness for showing us looking grim and standing in food lines, at least when we're not being rustically cheerful at a harvest festival or being maudlin star-crossed lovers. Hazelle, like many people from the Seam, is barely comfortable with the merchants in town, let alone a rich Capitol woman wearing an expensive dress and a tomato red wig. It's frustrating, and it doesn't help.  
  
Effie just looks confused by it for a minute, then turns on me. "Haymitch, I told you to tell Katniss we'd be coming. Mrs. Everdeen said she'd hoped we'd change our minds, so she didn't say a word." This seems to confuse her as well, but she just shakes her head. "What am I going to do with you? Poor Katniss was taken completely by surprise when her prep team said hello."  
  
"Is Cinna over there?"  
  
"He's not needed yet. He wanted to have a walk around town while she's being prepped."  
  
I have told him nothing about the new state of affairs in District Twelve. "I should catch up with him," I say. "Or do you need me over at Katniss's?"  
  
"I can't think why we would."  
  
"Do you want me to send Peeta over?"  
  
"Peeta!" She holds up her hands in horror. "Oh, Haymitch, no! One of those dresses will be her wedding gown. How much bad luck do you think they need? He hasn't seen her try them on, has he?"  
  
"I sincerely doubt it," I tell her, since I'm quite sure Katniss hasn't even looked at the dresses since they came.  
  
She sighs. "I hope not. That would be just awful. Well, I should get back. But Haymitch, you are not out of trouble with me." She looks over my shoulder at Hazelle and says, "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Hawthorne." She pauses and frowns, then chooses the worst possible thing to say to Hazelle. "Oh, wait. You're Katniss's aunt?"  
  
Hazelle raises an eyebrow and says, coolly, "I'm Gale's mother. Your people have interviewed him."  
  
"Oh, yes. He's such a handsome and well-spoken boy," Effie says. "You must be so proud."  
  
"I am."  
  
"Well, in that case it was doubly nice meeting you. Any family of Katniss's is family of mine!" She gives a cheerful wave and disappears toward the Everdeens'.  
  
Hazelle watches her go, with a look of distaste on her face, and for a minute, I remember her stopping me on the road when I was a kid, having her friends hold onto me while she taunted me. I push it away. She had her rotten side then, but she's my friend now. And… whatever else she is. Or isn't.  
  
"Is she always like that?" Hazelle asks, jerking her chin in the direction Effie went.  
  
"Effie is... Effie." I'm not sure I want to engage Hazelle about Effie any more than I do about Katniss and Peeta.   
  
"Guess so."  
  
"She's a decent person. In her way."  
  
"Maybe," Hazelle says, turning back to breakfast. "But I'm never going to like a woman who calls two kids up to die every year."  
  
That's when the unbridgeable chasm opens up, the one I think Katniss and Peeta are both starting to discover, the one the rest of us have known about for years: the gap between people who've lived through the Games, and people who've only watched them. I'm sure that, to Hazelle, it's unthinkable that the woman who draws names out of the Reaping balls is a great comfort to the tributes put in her care (not to mention their mentor). But when you've been there, you know what it means to have someone extend a kindness of any sort in the middle of that hell. Effie extends a lot of kindnesses.  
  
I consider trying to explain it, but there's no time if I want to catch Cinna before he gets into town. I pull on my boots and coat and go out into the morning.  
  
Cinna is walking slowly along the less than picturesque path into town, and doesn't seem surprised when I call. He stops and sits down on a dirty snowbank while I catch up. He grins. "Surprised to see us?"  
  
"Totally forgot," I say. "Twelve's gotten a little chilly since the last time you were here."  
  
"I guessed as much, with all the falling down on ice," he says and gets up. We start walking toward town. "How bad is the scar?"  
  
"Ruth did a good job with it. Just a little red line under her eye."  
  
"Interesting way to get cut falling on ice."  
  
"Yeah, well, we're headed for the ice she fell on. It's sharp." We come into the square, and I point to the whipping post. "She was trying to help someone else who slipped."  
  
Cinna stares at it with disgust, but not much surprise. "Suddenly, I'd rather go back to the Victors' Village," he says.  
  
I shrug. "Suit yourself." We turn to walk back. When we're at that golden spot between likely bugging areas, I say, "What's really going on, Cinna? Why did they push the shoot up?"  
  
He stops and looks up at the sky. "I don't know, Haymitch. But I don't like it. The Capitol's been voting on wedding dresses. We sent the last six up for the shoot. They'll be making the final votes the day after tomorrow and I've been told to make myself available tomorrow night--probably something airing live. It was supposed to be closer to the Games."  
  
"Have you heard anything?"  
  
"No. But the only thing I can think of is that they want it before the Quell card reading. I don't like that Snow's got them tied up in his mind."  
  
I don't like it, either. Visions of Prim go through my head again. Pairing Katniss's supposed happiness about the wedding with a devastating announcement costing the life of her beloved sister... by Capitol entertainment standards, that's pure gold. "Are the Quells really set out?" I ask. "Or does he make them up for whatever he needs at the moment?"  
  
He thinks about it for a few minutes, then says, "He was the first Gamemaker, Haymitch. Ultimately, he made all of them up. Maybe he was really prescient about when he'd need each one. Or maybe he remembers all of them and picks the one he wants. Or he writes new ones. No one exactly analyzes the age of the ink, and it's all his handwriting."  
  
"What do you think, though?"  
  
He shrugs. "Does it matter?"  
  
"Who knows what matters?"  
  
He thinks about it. "I think he chooses the card," he says. "I think he goes through all of them and he'll pick the one he needs. The first one was probably real enough, but it backfired."  
  
"Backfired?"  
  
"Whose kids do you think ex-rebels voted into the arena twenty-five years after they lost the war?"  
  
I think about Hazelle standing at the stove, saying that she'd never like a woman who chose two kids to die every year. Of course. "Capitol sympathizers," I guess.  
  
He nods. "And pacifists. Anyone who'd said it was a bad idea to rebel. In One and Two, it was the children of the people who originally rebelled against Thirteen. The Capitol lost the only people in the districts likely to be actually loyal. I think he's more careful now, rethinking ideas he had when he was seventeen. Looking for the ones that suit his needs in any given year." He wrinkles his nose. "But I think he does use the ones he came up with. I think he probably plays by the rules he made for himself. After all, it's a sport. Without rules, it's just a bunch of kids murdering each other."  
  
"Why do you hate the Games, Cinna?" I ask. I have never asked before. It has seemed rude. But as long as we're talking treason on a sunny morning here in District Twelve, it seems like a natural enough thing to say.  
  
"I hope you're not expecting some big story about how my life was ruined by Snow," he says. "I told Effie once. She didn't tell you?"  
  
"You know the way she is now. She might not even have processed it."  
  
He doesn't answer this. "I was working on a prep team for District Ten while I finished design school. Sixty-seventh Games. The boy I was working on was only a year younger than me, and I realized that he was no different from me. He wasn't seditious. He was a scared kid, same as I was. We even liked the same books. And I was prepping him to die. Which he did, at the Cornucopia. I couldn't see a single way it made Panem any safer to be rid of one teenage boy with bad acne and a crooked nose. If there was no way it made sense for him to die, then there was no way it made sense for the others."  
  
"Was he..."  
  
"A complete stranger," Cinna says. "I told you it wasn't a big story."  
  
"Sounds like it was big enough to you."  
  
He doesn't comment. We get back into the Village, and Effie tells him that Katniss is ready for her dresses. She sends me to Peeta's to make sure he doesn't take it in his head to drop in. There's little danger of that. Delly Cartwright is there, and she has brought homework from school... and Peeta's niece. She is babysitting, and has been told by Peeta's sister-in-law that the baby would enjoy a brisk walk out to the Victors' Village.  
  
"And I wasn't to take 'get out of here' as an answer," she says, smirking.  
  
Peeta is too delighted to bother making an argument for his own martyrdom. He is reading Betony a story from Delly's textbook, complete with funny voices, though they don't fit the subject at all. When he excuses himself to check on some cookies he's baking, he hands the baby to me.  
  
I am not at all sure what to do with it. Delly laughs at me, and says she needs to finish her trigonometry assignment, so I'll just have to figure things out myself. We barely notice when the cars leave Katniss's place. I walk Delly and the baby back into town.  
  
"Thanks for doing that," I say.  
  
"Peeta's brothers decided to stop humoring him. Actually, it was a whole family decision. There was a meeting in the bakery. We voted and everything. Sarey and Jonadab are going back to being Mellarks. Though they may have to move out of the inn. Her family's afraid of Thread."  
  
This is a fairly reasonable fear, and I don't bother saying otherwise. I drop Delly off at the shoe store, where Sarey Mellark is waiting on the porch. She seems relieved to get the baby and disappears inside quickly.  
  
I go home, trying to figure Peeta's family out. One minute, I hear Ruth's voice, talking about Glen finding Peeta wandering around with bruises on his arm. I hear Peeta saying bitterly that his mother expected him to die in the Games. Then I think of Ed and his fury on Peeta's behalf, of family meetings to decide what's best for him. I can't make sense of them, and I can't square them with the Danny Mellark I grew up with.  
  
It's most likely Mir's fault, I decide.  
  
When I get back, I find supper on the stove and a note from Hazelle reminding me that she'll be in early tomorrow to sweep the floors.  
  
Peeta comes by in the morning with bread, and says he really should apologize for being ridiculous about the baby. He's her uncle, and Katniss will be her aunt, and I'll be her... something. He hasn't decided yet. He's going into town to spend the day with his family, sort of a command performance after yesterday. He's going to ask them if they mean to include Katniss in the baby's life, since she's in his, but he seems hopeful that they will. I have honestly not seen him so happy since the end of the Games. He greets Hazelle cheerfully as she comes in, and heads toward town with barely a limp on his bad leg.  
  
By the time my doorbell rings again, I have eaten breakfast and had a drink. Hazelle is upstairs, sweeping the study energetically. I answer the door myself. It's Katniss. She bites her lip and says, "Can we talk? Peeta's not home."  
  
I frown, wondering what on earth I've come in second to Peeta for, but judging by the look on her face, it's not about wedding gowns and photo shoots. I grab my coat and go out to the green with her.  
  
"I've been watching television," she says.  
  
"I noticed."  
  
"Mostly the news. Mostly about District Thirteen."  
  
Everything inside my head stops, and the world seems to freeze. "District Thirteen?"  
  
She nods. "The day I broke my foot, I met two people in the woods," she says. "From District Eight."  
  
I listen with increasing dread as she talks about meeting two women called Bonnie and Twill, who told her explicitly about the uprising, and that the Capitol cracked down with great brutality. They were heading to District Thirteen on the strength of an urban legend that all the footage from District Thirteen showed the same mockingjay. It may be true or not true about the footage -- Katniss says she's seen the bird a few times now -- but the last thing the rebellion can afford right now is to have any attention turned to the north. If Snow catches even a whiff of Thirteen, the whole thing will go down in flames. I do the only thing I can think of, and treat the idea with complete disinterest. Too many denials will only raise her suspicions.  
  
She looks irritated that I don't care, which is fine. She has also, through her conversations with her preps, figured out that Three and Four are in rebellion. There is no point in denying it. She needs to know sooner or later, and if Cinna's right, "sooner" may be the operative word. I tell her there are rumors about Seven and Eleven as well, though I don't mention how I happen to come by these rumors. There's still the hard truth that here in Twelve, we're nowhere near prepared for an uprising.  
  
"What do you think they'll do, Haymitch? To the districts that are rebelling?"  
  
I look at her. All the wheedling in the world wouldn't move me, but Katniss isn't wheedling. She's looking at me like she thinks I'm someone who can actually help her. Dammit. I sigh. "Well, you've heard what they did in Eight. You've seen what they did here, and that was without provocation. If things really do get out of hand, I think they'd have no problem killing off another district, same as they did Thirteen. Make an example of it, you know?"  
  
"So you think Thirteen was really destroyed?" She looks crestfallen, and I can tell she's been envisioning a land of magical elves who would solve all of our problems. "I mean, Bonnie and Twill were right about the mockingjay."  
  
I toss out a few reasons that the Capitol might use stock footage, hoping to discourage her, and basically call her desperate for believing it. She looks like I've killed her pet canary.  
  
We talk a little more about her whirlwind visit from Cinna yesterday. She is annoyed that they barely got to talk. She invites me to have lunch with her and Ruth, but I'm sure Hazelle has already started on mine.  
  
"I'm sure glad you hired Hazelle," she says. "Sounds like she's got you eating right."  
  
"I'm glad I hired her, too. It was a good idea. Thanks."  
  
She smiles and goes home.  
  
I am right. Hazelle is actually cooking up a good-sized midday meal when I go in. Chicken and dumplings, with boiled onions and carrots. I ask her to eat with me and take a page from the Mellark family book, refusing to humor her refusal any more. She laughs and sits down with me. We have a pleasant conversation and drink to each other's health. There's no fresh fruit to be had with Eleven in rebellion (or, as the Capitol insists on putting it, with the bad weather in Eleven), but I have some canned fruit, and we split it for dessert. I am just settling in to it when the phone rings.  
  
"I never should have let Effie fix that thing," I say.  
  
Hazelle laughs. I feel good. I like having Hazelle here, and Katniss came to me with her problems, and Peeta's family is actually working to help him out.  
  
I answer the phone. It's Merle Undersee.  
  
"Haymitch, there's mandatory programming tonight," he says. "No idea what. But if Hazelle Hawthorne is there, could you ask her to spread the word down at the Seam? I'm sending Madge out to the Square."  
  
My good feelings disappear. Cinna mentioned that he was expected to be available tonight, probably for something to air live. The wedding shoot. And if they were pushing it up because of the Quell, then I can guess what the actual mandatory viewing is for.  
  
"Sure thing. I'll ask her," I say, and hang up. I turn to Hazelle, who is frowning. "The Mayor wants you to tell people on the Seam that there's mandatory viewing tonight."  
  
"Great."  
  
I approach the next part cautiously. "Hazelle, those dresses they were trying on Katniss yesterday--"  
  
"The wedding dresses?"  
  
"Cinna said the Capitol's been voting on them. They'll probably show the finalists tonight."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well... you might not want Gale to be taken by surprise by it. I'd guess that wouldn't feel too good."  
  
She stands up, looking furious. "I can't believe this! Not only are they forcing her to get married, they're inviting themselves to dress her up! Like a doll, or one of those stupid little dogs they carry around."  
  
"Hazelle--"  
  
"And don't pretend you're worried about Gale. I know where you stand on this." She grabs her coat. "Your floors are done. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon to do your laundry." She storms out.  
  
So much for our pleasant lunch. I climb up and get one of the un-watered bottles of white liquor. Stare at it. Put it down unopened. I will want it later, I'm sure.  
  
I lie down on the couch and turn on the television, even though it's four hours until the broadcast. I am unsurprised to see a report "from" District Thirteen, with its smoldering Justice Building, and the flap of a mockingjay's wing in the corner. They return to a show about fine architecture. After it, there's a reminder about mandatory viewing, then a Games movie, which just increases my dread. It's about a victor who falls on hard times and becomes a drunk, only to be helped by the largess of the Capitol. They don't say what district he's from, but the actor has black hair and gray eyes, and speaks in a bad imitation of a very familiar accent.  
  
I fall asleep briefly and dream that the actor has taken over my life. He's welcome to it. I wake up to the sound of the national anthem, and make myself sit up.  
  
Sure enough, there's Caesar Flickerman, and there are the wedding gowns. I wonder if Peeta is excused from mandatory viewing to prevent bad luck, and somehow doubt it. Effie is probably beside herself with anxiety. Caesar shows sketches of about two dozen gowns, a dozen mock-ups on foolish looking Capitol models, then six of them on Katniss. All of them are beautiful. Katniss looks scared to death in them, even though Cinna managed to somehow tease smiles out of her.  
  
"Don't forget," Caesar tells the Capitol, "if you want to cast your vote, you have to do it by noon tomorrow. Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!"  
  
I wonder if anyone is fooled into thinking this was the entire purpose. Caesar certainly doesn't miss a beat before reminding people to stay tuned for "the other big event," which is, of course, the reading of the card for the third Quarter Quell.  
  
I remember mandatory viewing twenty-five years ago. The card saying that there would be twice as many tributes. I didn't think anything of it at all. So there'd be four instead of two. I never for a second thought I'd be one of them. No one ever does. It's always going to be someone else, or someone else's child. People pay lip service to how horrible it is, but the main reaction is always, "It wasn't one of mine! It was someone else."  
  
Only someone else is always someone, and that year, someone else was me. And Maysilee, and Beech, and Gilla.  
  
Everyone else felt like they really dodged a bullet, with the odds that bad.  
  
The anthem plays, and Snow comes out to give whatever version of history seems good to him. This year, he pounds on the issue of the Dark Days, and the creation of the Games and the Quells. All to remind the districts that the price for rebellion is too high, the blood too dear. So of course, the Quell will find some way to make it even worse, to "freshen" our memories.  
  
The camera moves briefly to Caesar during this history, but cuts away quickly. His usually cheerful expression is gone. I can't quite read what's in its place, and I decide to hell with Plutarch -- I am going to try and bring Caesar on board. No one with that expression actually loves the Games.  
  
"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," Snow says, and calls forward some poor little boy who's been recruited to carry twenty-three death sentences. Or more. There are stiff standing envelopes in a box, marching forward to who knows how many Quells. There have to be several centuries worth.   
  
I am disgusted and bored. I want to turn off the television, but whatever horror they have in mind, I'm going to have to mentor two kids through it, and pretend that Katniss is mentoring one of them.  
  
Snow pulls out the card, and I lean forward, waiting to see what sadistic twist I'll have to work around. Snow doesn't hesitate. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary," he says, "as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."  
  
The world goes silent around me, balanced on the point of a needle.  
  
I have thought of a thousand horrors they could inflict, a million vicious turns of mind. Prim being thrown in for Katniss to mentor. Family members of rebels. District partners forced to fight one another. Tributes having to be sibling pairs.  
  
But I never thought of this.  
  
And it's not a Game meant to prove anything to the Districts, or to the Capitol audience. This isn't one of Snow's mind games at all.  
  
He knows what we've been doing, and he means to kill us all.  
  
I start drinking.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the announcement of the Quell, Peeta and Katniss come to Haymitch with conflicting strategies, and he intends to ignore both of them.

**Chapter Thirteen**  
I've barely gotten the bottle to my lips when my front door opens. There's no preliminary doorbell or knock, and I am half-expecting Peacekeepers, but it's Peeta.  
  
"You owe me," he says. "You didn't send me anything, and you picked Katniss last year. You owe me."  
  
"You want me to go into the arena," I guess. "So you can get Katniss out."  
  
"No. I want you to let me go in with her. No matter who Effie draws."  
  
"Are you crazy?" I ask him, and lead him to the kitchen. "You _want_ to go back?"  
  
"No. But I want to make sure Katniss gets home."  
  
"And you think you're better at the arena than I am?"  
  
"I think I'm in better shape with one leg than you are with two," he says, and that's hard to argue with. "Besides, like you said, I'm not prepared to be a mentor. She's going to need someone who knows how to work sponsors and has connections in the Capitol. Get her whatever she needs."  
  
I sit down at the table and rub my head. "So, your idea of how to repay you for not sending you anything and choosing Katniss is to let you die in the arena while I don't send you anything and choose Katniss."  
  
"It's what I want." He shakes his head. "No, it's not what I want. I want to grow up, marry Katniss, and grow old and have kids and grandkids. I want them all to dread visits from grumpy Uncle Haymitch, who gives them all the best presents. I want to watch my niece grow up. But that's not one of my choices. So, of the choices I have, I want to make sure Katniss lives."  
  
"You could have all of it if you were the mentor." Except for grumpy Uncle Haymitch, of course, but he doesn't argue with me on that point.  
  
"I need you mentoring. You're better at it than I am."  
  
"And if I say no?"  
  
He gives me a bitter smile, so at odds with the Peeta I'm used to that it throws me. "Do you think I never talked to the Careers last year? I know how to beat the volunteer system. If you try to volunteer for me, I can get around it. Do you know how to do it if I volunteer for you?"  
  
I could lie, but I don't. Learning how to make the Gamemakers accept someone as a volunteer over other willing volunteers was never a skill I felt it necessary to have in Twelve. I shake my head.  
  
My capitulating like this seems to take the furious energy out of Peeta. He sits down across from me, his head in his hands, and says, "It's better this way. If I'd died like I was supposed to last year, she wouldn't be in trouble in the first place. She never should have come back for me."  
  
"She wouldn't be Katniss if she hadn't."  
  
"That's another thing," he says. "I gave her this whole guilt-trip about how I was going to stay me, and not let anything change me. Self-righteous stuff, like I was so much better than she was. She knew she couldn't afford to do that. But I think she listened. I think she let me guilt her about it, and now that's why they're trying to kill her."  
  
"That's what you were arguing about on the roof?"  
  
He nods.  
  
I put down the bottle. "Listen to me, Peeta. I mean this. What you told her, that's the most important thing you could have said. And I think it's why you're in better shape than either of us now. You know what it really means. You didn't break."  
  
He looks up. "Then why do I feel broken, Haymitch?" He takes a deep and shaky breath and looks out the kitchen window, toward the garden. "I just want to do what's right. Get her through the arena, and then she can have the life she was supposed to have. I had no business twisting her life around my stupid fantasies. It wasn't fair."  
  
"It saved her life," I remind him. I don't add, _And yours,_ since in his current mood, he probably wouldn't think that was a benefit. "You want to know why the people loved her? It's because of what you did. I know that. I was out there, talking to them the whole time. _She_ knows that. And she loves you. Why are you trying to die?"  
  
"I'm not trying to die," he says, and I'm not sure even he realizes that he's lying. "And I know she cares about me--"  
  
" _Loves_ you."  
  
"Cares about me. But she's got this whole other life. She's got her mom and Prim. She has Gale. She can marry Gale someday. They'll have kids. Maybe she'll name one after me. I'd like that. Though he'd probably end up in the arena, wouldn't he?"  
  
"Peeta, you have people to live for, too. You've been getting along with your family..."  
  
"Yeah. They're over at my house now. I was watching with them. I was holding Betony. My brothers are taking care of Dad. He's wrecked." This seems to derail him for a minute, and I almost jump in to push the point that it would kill Danny to lose him, but he forces himself back onto his original track before I can. "I have to tell them to go back to town. I can get them out of the crossfire. And that's not the stupid martyr act anymore. My brother Ed has taken lashes three times already -- not big ones like Gale took, but five or six at a time. I wasn't supposed to know, but Delly told me. They're going to push him out of his shop. And my parents are losing everything. They say they don't care, but... there's no reason for them to lose everything. Not anymore. Three or four months of getting along isn't worth wrecking the rest of their lives. Maybe by the time Betony's twelve, the Capitol will have forgotten about me. They leave Madge alone, pretty much, except when she's actually doing something."  
  
"Peeta, stop it."  
  
"I can't do anything else for them. But I can do this for Katniss. I can help her through the arena. _We_ can. Will you help, Haymitch?"  
  
"You're crazy."  
  
"I fit right in around here."  
  
"Not even close. You're a whole different level of crazy."  
  
"Will you help me?"  
  
"What you're talking about isn't helping you."  
  
"It's helping me make my life mean something. I'm going to die either way, Haymitch. Will you help me make sure it counts for something?"  
  
Something huge and terrible is swelling in my chest, closing off my throat, making my eyes burn. "Yeah," I say. "Yeah, fine. I'll help you die nobly so Katniss can live. Are you happy? Get out of here."  
  
He nods solemnly, then stands up and leaves without another word.  
  
I sit and wait for Katniss. Outside, I can hear Prim and Gale calling for her. I'm guessing she had some kind of major breakdown, but I know she'll be here soon. She'll be here before she goes back to them, to these people Peeta thinks she'd rather live for. Because I'm the grown-up who can make it all better. I can fix it all somehow. I look at the painting Peeta did of Katniss and me in District Eleven, the way she's looking at me in it.  
  
I drink. I think about overthrowing the Capitol. We have to do it, now. We should have struck fast, last summer, before the Victory Tour. But it's gotten so easy to sit back and plan. And Plutarch was working his connections, most likely with Thirteen, though no one's been able to clarify much with me this year. We have to do it now, though. I fantasize for a few minutes about hopping a train to the Capitol and assassinating Snow, but, as much fun as it would be, I imagine he'd make it more difficult than I think. He'd execute me and, worse, make the kids pay in the arena.  
  
Besides, the chances of me getting away now that I'm on a very short list of potential tributes are slim to none.  
  
Prim comes to my door, frantic, asking me to help look for Katniss. I tell her someone needs to stay home with the light on. She tells me I'm drunk and runs off. I keep waiting. Katniss will show up -- and she'll show up _here_ \-- when she's good and ready to do it.  
  
I know what she's going to ask, once she's gotten outside her head enough to realize that Peeta could die. I know it the same way I know that she'll be here. She'll tell me that she wants me to go into the arena, and when I tell her that Peeta won't allow it, she'll ask me to sacrifice her to save him.  
  
I am right. She shows up an hour after he leaves, her hair coated with cobwebs. There are white marks on her face where she's been digging her fingers into it to keep from screaming. She makes exactly the request I expect from her. The only thing I don't anticipate is that she also asks for a drink. I give her one. I let her have the whole bottle. She needs it as much as I do. Ruth will be furious, but somehow, that doesn't strike me as a major problem right now.  
  
I promise her that I'll let her die nobly, so that Peeta can live. I think about the rows of silent names in the cemetery, all the kids I've brought to the Capitol to die, and it occurs to me that, if the rebellion doesn't get its act together, I'll be keeping both promises.  
  
When she leaves, I pick up the phone and call Cinna.  
  
"Looks like you'll get to use your new fire technique after all," I say as soon as he says hello.  
  
"Not funny." His voice is cold. "You're drunk."  
  
"Not nearly drunk enough."  
  
He's quiet for a long time, then says, "Haymitch, I'm sorry."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"What else is there to say? What would make it better?"  
  
I can't think of a thing. It's not Cinna's fault, and he has no control over it.  
  
There's someone who does, though. I mumble for a minute, trying to sound like I'm just griping, then say, "If I had a second alone with the Head Gamemaker..."  
  
If Cinna picks up what I'm asking for, he obviously can't say anything about it. Instead, he tells me to stop drinking, or he'll send the medics out to District Twelve on the next train. "And just so you know, I'm not kidding," he says, then hangs up on me.  
  
I don't stop drinking. No power on earth could make me stop drinking tonight. Eventually, I pass out, and my whole host of terrors visits me. All of them start out as different people -- Lacklen, my mother, Digger, Maysilee, Effie, Hazelle -- but all of them end up as Katniss and Peeta, dying no matter what I do, dissolving in my arms.  
  
When Peeta wakes me up late the next afternoon, I embrace him. I don't think I've ever done that before. He takes it stoically, then hauls me up off the floor and sits me down on the couch. "Stay there," he says, looking oddly cold. "I have work to do."  
  
He goes to the kitchen and starts shifting things around. I want to tell him that Hazelle will kill him, but it's Hazelle's day off, and somehow, I don't think Peeta would be all that upset about death threats from her at this point, anyway. He brews coffee and brings the pot out to the living room. He doesn't need to tell me that I'm to sober up. I see him take a large box upstairs, and wander out to the kitchen. He's taken down all my liquor bottles for something. Probably means to start rationing them again.  
  
He's still scurrying around upstairs when Katniss shows up, looking like she's been run over by a train and then dragged a while for good measure. I think I probably looked the same the first time I tried white liquor. It takes some getting used to.  
  
She has brought me broth. I drink it. We don't talk.  
  
Peeta comes downstairs with his cardboard box, and I hear an ominous clinking noise. "There," he says. "It's done."  
  
"What's done?" Katniss asks.  
  
But it's obvious. The box contains at least twenty empty white liquor bottles. I know they haven't just been lying around, not with Hazelle in to clean. He's dumped it down the drain, and bribed Ripper not to sell me anymore.  
  
For a minute, I forget that I spent the night having nightmares about his death. I forget that he's brought me bread almost every day. I forget that he's cleaned me up when I've fallen face first in my own puke, or that his father cleaned me up after worse.  
  
I take a swing at him with my knife.  
  
He ducks it easily. Child's play after fighting with Cato, I guess. He isn't looking at either of us, not really, and he has cloaked last night's tears with a kind of cold anger.  
  
"What business is it of yours?" Katniss demands.  
  
"It's completely my business. However it falls out, two of us are going to be in the arena again with the other as mentor. We can't afford any drunkards on this team. Especially not you, Katniss."  
  
And of course, that's the point of the anger. I promised him I'd help keep her safe, and the first thing I did was get her drunk. Katniss offers to keep me supplied, but Peeta cuts off that thought as well, threatening to turn her in and let her do time in the stocks.  
  
I am not sure I like this version of Peeta -- this Peeta is Mirrem's son.  
  
"What's the point to this?" I ask.  
  
"The point is that two of us are coming home from the Capitol," he says. "One mentor and one victor. Effie's sending me recordings of all the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers. And one of us is going to be a victor again whether you two like it or not." He storms out and slams the door, making my skull ring.  
  
Katniss looks up, greenish, and says, "I don't like self-righteous people."  
  
We both know that he intends for us to come home. I don't tell her that I promised him exactly that, any more than I'll tell him that I promised her the same thing.  
  
A train arrives the next morning, and I see a delivery box arrive at Peeta's house. Probably the tapes he asked Effie for. I am not terribly interested. Hazelle has managed to sneak in a single bottle of liquor, but says that Ripper won't sell her any more, either. Peeta put the fear of the law in her.  
  
"Nice kid," Hazelle says. "Does he know what it'll do to you to quit cold?"  
  
"He has no idea. He thinks he does, but he doesn't."  
  
She rolls her eyes and is reaching for a dish towel when there's a thundering knock on my door. There's no pause to wait for an answer when the door bursts open and Romulus Thread comes into my kitchen, trailed by two large lackeys.  
  
"Need something?" I ask.  
  
"You're wanted at the station," he says, his eyes glittering unpleasantly. "Right now."  
  
"You could just ask," Hazelle says.  
  
Thread looks at her with distaste. "You weren't addressed." He signals, and the two lackeys grab me and shove me out the door to a waiting car. They don't say a word all the way to the train station. Thread pulls me out of the car roughly and shoves me toward the door to a luxury cabin.  
  
"I'll just wait right here," he says.  
  
The door opens, and Plutarch Heavensbee comes out. "That won't be necessary, Officer Thread," he says. "Thank you for your diligence. I'll have a word with Mr. Abernathy, then I'm sure he can get home on his own."  
  
Thread grimaces, but calls off his squad. After all, the Head Gamemaker outranks him.  
  
"Get inside," Plutarch says.  
  
I go. Fulvia is sitting at an ornate desk, going through files. She looks up, but doesn't smile.  
  
"What do you want?" I ask.  
  
"My personal compartment isn't bugged," Plutarch says. "There are advantages to my position. And I'm not the one who called this meeting."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Cinna said you wanted to see me."  
  
I vaguely remember telling Cinna that I wanted a few minutes alone with the Head Gamemaker, but I don't remember what I meant to tell him. I cover for it. "When did you know?" I ask.  
  
"The same time as the rest of Panem," he says. "I'm in charge of the Games, not the tributes."  
  
"Then why were you waiting for the Quell? Why didn't we start things months ago?"  
  
"Isn't that obvious?" Fulvia says waspishly. "When all of Panem is watching, we can make a definitive statement. We can declare war on the Capitol in a way that there's no better medium for. It will reach everyone. It will --"  
  
I grab her arm and glare at her. "A statement?"  
  
"Yes," Plutarch says, prying me off her. "A statement. Perhaps if we'd had the mockingjay all along, we could have made the statement in some other way."  
  
I don't believe him. I believe that his intent was always to blow up his own Games.  
  
I grab him and hurl him into the wall, pinning him against the rich velvet curtains. Fulvia is up and trying to dislodge me, but I ignore her.  
  
"A statement," I say. "How many tributes were you going to let die for your statement? Were you just going to wait for the bloodbath? Or go through the whole thing and get a victor? Or were you planning on just killing them all? That'd be some statement."  
  
"I hardly think that's a relevant question now. Most of the tributes will be our people, so -- "  
  
"And that makes a difference to you?"  
  
"Of course it does."  
  
I give him a shake, then I say, "I remember what I wanted to say now. And you're going to listen to it. You really didn't need to come all the way here. It's pretty brief."  
  
"I'm listening," he says.  
  
"You had us put things off to make a statement at your Games. This didn't need to happen. And if either of my kids dies in your arena, I'm going to slit your damn throat. That's all." I let him go, shrug Fulvia off my back, and leave.  
  
They don't come after me, or send the Peacekeepers.  
  
It was probably not too smart to threaten people on my own side, but I feel better. I made promises to Katniss and Peeta -- both of them want to die. I intend to break both promises. They're going to live whether they want to or not.  
  
I'm halfway through the square -- passing the whipping post -- when I realize several things, things I hadn't really considered before. My brief euphoria drops away, leaving an unfocused horror in its wake.  
  
Things have been set in motion, and I can't stop them now.  
  
I stand in the cold for a few minutes, blinking, then change direction. I go to the bakery.  
  
There's no crowd. There's never much of a lunch crowd, and it's hours before the dinner rush. Danny is standing listlessly behind the counter, a sugar shaker in one hand, his eyes focused on a painting on the wall, new since the last time I was here. It shows the family in the back, working on pastries together. Peeta and Danny are at the kneading table, laughing about something. Jonadab and Sarey are frosting cupcakes. Ed and Delly are rolling out dough. Mirrem is stirring something.  
  
Danny glances at me with no recognition, then looks back at the painting.  
  
I have no doubt that the bakery is bugged. I have to get him someplace else.  
  
"Hey," I say.  
  
He looks back at me, this time registering me more. "Hey."  
  
I latch onto his clumsy bug act from the other night. "You said Chaff wrote to you. I think maybe I better get him those cookies."  
  
Danny closes his eyes. "That's right. It's your friends, too."  
  
This is another truth -- Chaff and Seeder will be in the arena, and Jo Mason, and Beetee and Wiress and Cecelia and Woof -- but I can't think about it yet. I have to give it time to sink in. "Yeah," I say.  
  
"He likes hermits and chocolate, right? I'll get him some cream puffs, too. I think he'll like those. And it's my treat."  
  
"He's got allergies," I say. "Got some paper? I'll make a list of what he _can't_ have. And it's not your treat, it's mine."  
  
He hands me a bit of packing paper and a pen. He's moving sluggishly, but I see him starting to wake up. I'm here. It must mean I'm going to fix things.  
  
I pause with the pen over the paper, trying to think of someplace to tell him to meet me, someplace no one is likely to show up looking for me.  
  
The image comes to me, and I grimace. There's a place that no one has seen me go for twenty-five years. I write, "Meet me home. Mother."  
  
He frowns at it groggily -- I wonder if he dipped into the booze last night, too, but I don't think so; I think this is anticipatory grief -- then I see understanding in his eyes. He nods. "Okay. I'll get the order together. I'll see you in an hour or so."  
  
I head out. I make a circle around the ruins of the Hob, talk to old Sae for a few minutes, pass the cemetery, and generally wander Twelve aimlessly until I'm sure no one is watching me.  
  
Then I turn down on to the Seam. I greet some of the people Hazelle and I tried to help, and I get waves from a few of the older parents of my tributes (they are always good to me for some reason), and I try not to make my destination too obvious. Finally, I turn down the last street, the run of long-unoccupied houses that were damaged after a mine explosion shook them into varying states of disrepair. No one fixed them. No one fixed the last one on the lane, either, the one with the worst damage. I paid to have a high wooden fence put up, so no one would get hurt, but I've never cleared it away. There's some graffiti, but not much, and it's nothing particularly meaningful (other than a mockingjay that was probably drawn on last year). All I really glean from it is "Addree" is apparently taken with "River." Another scribbling suggests that a girl named Ivy might be engaged in a particularly ancient profession.  
  
There's a lock, but it's a Capitol lock, which opens on my thumbprint. I open the gate and go inside.  
  
The wreck of my childhood home is mostly decayed now, with ferns and moss growing up among the boards. The pine tree that kept us alive for a lot of winters is dead, blown down in some windstorm or other. It doesn’t look like it was very long ago. The tree I used to climb to check the roof is still standing; it's a sturdy old oak, and it takes more than a quarter of a century to kill it.  
  
I follow the path to where the front door was. A bit of the frame is lying on the ground, crawling with bugs.  
  
I sit down on a rock and don't really look at things. I just think about being a kid here, about the stench of the place, the ragged old furniture that was always creaking and cracking, the threadbare cloth with burn holes in it. Nothing was ever new, and everything had a kind of strange smell about it, partly from my parents' illness, partly from Daddy's liquor, partly from a kind of unnamable miasma of poverty that worked its way into everything we did own.  
  
But it was also the place where my father taught me to read, sitting on his knee and watching his finger move under the words. It was where he regaled us with definitions of strange words, and where he tried his little experiments. It was where my mother sat with me on sleepless nights, and where she held Lacklen and me after Daddy died and promised us that she'd figure things out, that we'd be safe. It was where I held my baby brother on my lap, terrified that I was going to drop him on his head, but proud to be allowed to do such a very grown-up thing.  
  
Lacklen would be thirty-seven this year. I want to know what my brother would have been like at thirty-seven. He'd have been a miner, no question about it -- victors' siblings don't get any special privileges once they've grown up. Maybe he'd have gotten married. _Probably_ he would have, most do down here. Maybe there'd be nieces and nephews.  
  
I press my hand against my head. I shouldn't have picked this place.  
  
"Haymitch?"  
  
I look up. I have no idea how long I've been woolgathering, but Danny's here now. I signal to him to close the door in the fence.  
  
He closes the gate and comes further in, looking around in a vague way. Finally, he sits on a log beside me. "Remember the first time we got drunk together?" he asks out of nowhere.  
  
I nod. "Yeah. My idea, your key to your dad's liquor cabinet."  
  
He smiles. "I got in so much trouble."  
  
"Me, too."  
  
"I came down here to clean out your mom's oven. Atonement."  
  
"She forgave you."  
  
He locks his hands behind his head for a minute, pressing himself down, then looks up. "I do talk to my son, Haymitch. He says he's going to volunteer for you, and he knows how to stop you from volunteering for him. He says he wants you mentoring to get Katniss out of the arena."  
  
"I --"  
  
"It's not just Katniss, you know. Peeta wouldn't have let you go in there to die if he had a way to stop it. He's frustrated with your drinking, but he actually loves you. Do you know that?"  
  
I shake my head.  
  
"He does. He told me that you sat with him in the hospital after the Games. He told me that before the Games, you let him talk to you for hours. You made him feel loved, and I'm grateful for it."  
  
"He's a great kid."  
  
"I know you call him one of your kids. Along with Katniss. And there are a couple of others, too, aren't there?"  
  
"I --"  
  
"It's okay. Peeta's got an extra parent out of it, and I'm fine with that. I'm glad you're looking out for him."  
  
"But he's still yours."  
  
"Yeah." He waits a minute, then says, "So, what's the game plan? The real one."  
  
I almost lie out of habit, but I don't. I didn't call him out here to lie to him. "I don't know," I say. "Not exactly. But we're getting as many out as we can. _Especially_ the kids. I told Plutarch Heavensbee what the consequences would be if he let either of them die. But if I can get all twenty-four out of there -- even if Brutus is one of them -- I'll do it."  
  
"I believe you."  
  
"I know." I take a deep breath, and brace myself to tell him what I realized in the square. Maybe it's something I should have realized a long time ago. "Danny, if I get them out, no matter what else happens… I won't be able to bring them _home_. I'm not going to be able to get them out on a technicality in the rules. It'll be a breakout, and they'll be fugitives."  
  
"If Peeta's alive, I don't care if you fly him around the world and set up housekeeping in Antarctica."  
  
"Yeah. But there's something else. If we do this, it's…"  
  
"An act of war?" He raises his eyebrows. "I'm not stupid, Haymitch. If you break them out of the arena, you break the Treaty of the Treason. That's why no one's done it before. Snow will retaliate."  
  
"That's a very clean word." I look into the ruins of my house -- one of Snow's tiniest retaliations. "He'll take it out on Twelve, Danny. He's blamed Katniss for all the uprisings. Because of the berries."  
  
"He's right to blame her," Danny says. "She started something."  
  
"Danny, listen to me. Whatever he does, it's not going to be trivial. There's going to be fighting in the streets. People are going to die. Maybe even your other sons, if they fight."  
  
"Which they will. Both of them. And me." He smiles faintly. "If we get a chance. Some things are worth dying for. The Games aren't. But stopping the Games _is_."  
  
I expected to dance up to this carefully, but of course he's already thought it through that far. I wonder how many of the other tributes' parents got this far in their reasoning about why we still let the Games happen.  
  
"Whatever happens in the arena -- and I don't know what it will be, because I've had too much media around me this year for anyone to get much word to me -- it's going to happen _fast_. It'll have to. When you see, you'll know it. Get out. And get the others -- Kay, Merle, Hazelle… I'll have to talk to Hazelle, too, somehow…" I hear my words getting faster, and I slow down. "Be ready to go."  
  
He frowns. "Go where?"  
  
"Somewhere we can really fight from." I look around. What I'm about to do could compromise the rebellion if Danny doesn't play it right, but I have to try. "North," I say. "Plutarch… has an ally."  
  
Danny's eyes widen. "Of course."  
  
"But until something happens, you can't give a hint. You have to do what you did last year. You have to be a tribute's father. Do your bit with the cameras. Worry. Give interviews. Keep the bakery open. No signs."  
  
"I get it."  
  
"But be ready."  
  
He nods. There's nothing else to say. After a few seconds, he says, "You're never going to be able to come back, either. And we both know Snow's idea of retaliation could be Thread walking over to me and putting a hole in my head before I have a chance to do anything or go anywhere."  
  
"Danny --"  
  
"If that happens… I trust you with my son, Haymitch. I don't say that to just anybody. You're a good, decent man. I don't think you know that."  
  
I don't know how to answer that -- I'm not, really; I'm as guilty as Plutarch of just expecting the Quell to happen -- so I don't try. After a while, Danny asks if I remember Mr. Parton, the father of one of my first pair of tributes, who Danny sat with through the Games. Apparently, Parton sat with Danny last year when he was staying at the inn. He's ancient and sickly, but he came. Danny considers any old debt paid in full. We start to talk about other years, other friends. The afternoon gets late, but I don't really notice it until Danny says he needs to get back to the bakery for the suppertime rush, or Mir will kill him.  
  
We walk back into town together, and I watch him disappear into the bakery.  
  
I turn up the collar of my coat and head back to Victors' Village.  
  
When I get back to my house, I am feeling better. Stronger. Hazelle asks what happened, and I tell her that I got in trouble with the Head Gamemaker.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
She nods. "That didn't take all this time, did it?"  
  
"I went and saw some friends. With the Quell coming up, I might not have a lot more chances."  
  
She hugs me.  
  
The phone rings. Peeta has got the tapes, as I suspected. He's called Katniss, and she's over there (I imagine her sitting in his kitchen, glaring at him), and I need to come as well. We're going to watch the Seventh Hunger Games. Mags's games. I can't imagine that would help. If Mags is called, certainly one of the younger Careers in District Four will volunteer. But I agree to come over.  
  
Peeta puts us through exercises before we sit down. I get winded easily, and both of the kids look disgusted with me.  
  
Then we watch the tape.  
  
I have never seen Mags as a young woman before, and I realize she was very beautiful once. Vicious, but beautiful. Even before her ally (the girl from Nine) is captured and abused for days, Mags is a force to be reckoned with. She fights her way to the Cornucopia and gets more weapons than she needs (though the supplies that year consist entirely of very primitive weapons), and after she makes her alliance, the two of them set up a fortress to live in. The ally is captured when she's out foraging.  
  
The highlight reel is delicate about what happens to her after she's captured. The Capitol audience didn't care for it. But it is quite lovingly devoted to Mags's revenge -- the fire trap, and her systematic destruction of her enemies with a slingshot and a bag full of rocks. Honestly, I have a crazy desire to travel in time so I can sponsor her myself.  
  
The kids have no idea what she's like now; they're watching a stranger. I'm not sure Katniss even understands what happened, given the pussyfooting around it that the tape did; in a lot of unexpected ways, she's very innocent. I wish I could keep her that way.  
  
Peeta starts planning our training. I don't know if she is sincere or trying to exasperate Peeta as much as he's been exasperating her, but she suggests that we call Gale on Sundays to teach us all about snares. If she's not sincere, it backfires -- Peeta declares the idea brilliant and tells her to set it up.  
  
I walk her home after Peeta gives us both a schedule. "Are you seriously going to bring Gale into this?" I ask her.  
  
She shrugs. "May as well. He knows everything about snares."  
  
"You're not bad yourself."  
  
"I can get us from A to B. He can get us to Z."  
  
We walk a little further. I watch her. She looks like she's walking on glass shards. I put my hand on her shoulder. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
"Maybe if he trains enough, it'll be easier to keep him alive."  
  
I nod. I doubt it'll make a difference. A few months of training won't be any counter to the years the Careers have. I doubt either of them really believes otherwise. But if it keeps them both sane to take control over the only thing they can take control of, I guess there's no harm in it. Ruth seems to understand this, and develops a diet regimen for us. She also slips me herbs to stop the shakes, and tells Peeta that I'm to be allowed beer. Not a lot of it, and she'll control the supply, but she says it won't do anyone any good if I have a heart attack.  
  
Gale's visit on the first Sunday is about as awkward as I figured it would be. He's trying as hard as he can, and is obviously worried about Katniss, but he doesn't care at all about Peeta and me, and isn't good at pretending. Peeta takes the lessons very seriously, asks smart questions, and makes sure to address any issues of physical strength which might be a problem for Katniss. By the second Sunday, he's acquired a camera, and takes pictures that he says he means to study. Why he feels a need to study a picture of Gale and Katniss sharing a joke over lunch is sort of a mystery, but he doesn't explain himself to me, and I doubt they even noticed him snapping it. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Reaping, Haymitch finds Katniss and Peeta watching his Quell, and feels that they all understand each other. He also regroups with the rest of the rebellious mentors in the Capitol.

**Chapter Fourteen**  
Peeta pushes us harder every day, an almost maniacal taskmaster. He pushes himself hardest of all, straining against his bad leg, exercising in his garden long after he's let Katniss and me go, staying up late into the night taking notes on whatever we've watched, to analyze it the next day.  
  
What we watch is the Games. Every night, a different victor. It's all the official tapes, none of the filler material that fills the gap between murders, but since all Peeta is interested in is how they fight, I guess the official record will do.  
  
I do the math. Peeta may be worried about me being in bad shape and being too old, but in fact, I'm in the younger half of the pack (if not by much). Thirty-three victors are older than I am. Twenty-five are younger (it would have been twenty-four if Katniss hadn't saved Peeta last year). I don't think that Peeta has really let himself realize that all the training he's doing has a pretty good chance of going up against fifty-year-old arthritic grandparents who have enough brains not to take on a seventeen-year-old athlete in hand-to-hand combat. I don't mention it. If this ritual is helping him prepare himself, then I'm not going to stop him.  
  
I just watch them, these people I've known for years without really thinking about the reason we know one another in the first place.  
  
I see Saffron Abatty, who has frequently lectured me about my drinking, but has otherwise left me alone. She was the ninth victor. She trudges through a rainy, gray arena, leading the band of Careers for a little while before a lightning storm destroys most of their supplies, triggering an early melee. She walks away from it easily, then takes down the rest of the field. She's obviously got pneumonia at the end, but that seems to be her only injury. She's a sour old prude these days, and Drake once told me she spends half her time in Two trying to reform drunken quarry-workers. Still, she pulled me out of a bottle once when I needed to sober up quickly, so I guess I owe her.  
  
I see Woof, from District Eight, giving terse, irritated answers in his interview with Candria Light before the Eighteenth Games. I've never thought of him as terse or unfriendly, but I can see now why he didn't exactly win over the country. He played pragmatically, intelligently -- nothing we can learn from, since he injured his head on an icy river several years ago, and it seems to have precipitated an early dementia.  
  
Hennessey Doolin, who won the Twenty-Ninth Games, is some kind of kin to Finnick's father -- Odair's first name was Doolin -- though Finnick himself isn't clear on it. He's something of a charmer, getting the others in the Career pack to follow his lead without question… right up until he turned on them and killed them with a smile on his face. I personally don't doubt that he could do it again, but I don't think, even if Finnick isn't reaped, that he'll let an older man from Four go.  
  
It's hard not to comment when I watch Seeder's Games, the Thirty-Eighth. The kids have some idea that she's a friend of mine, and don't say much themselves. She was heartbreakingly beautiful at eighteen, even after she took a number of wounds. She was also lethal. I always imagined that gentle, kind Seeder must have won defensively, but she didn't. She stayed away from the pack for the majority of the Games, but when she was down to the final five, she went hunting.  
  
Two years after Seeder, Beetee waits out most of the Games in hiding, then shocks the field -- literally -- by wiring up the equipment left around the ruined cityscape and felling all of the remaining tributes. He does it almost casually. I like Beetee a great deal, and for the most part, he's just a small, nervous man with a soft voice. But it's never occurred to me to cross him. I saw these Games when I was six, and I guess that calm, casual manner must have stuck with me, because I've _always_ thought of Beetee as a person who would kill me easily if I wronged him, and probably not be overly burdened by guilt over it later on.  
  
Chaff's Games, a year later, are about as brutal as I'd have guessed. Almost a week before the end, his hand is crushed beneath a boulder, and he spends those final days in agony, his careful strategies falling apart as he loses sight of any goal other than stopping that pain by winning the crown.  
  
The next year, Oliver Hedge -- already known as "Blight" in the logging camps, for reasons I've never known -- takes apart the opposition very efficiently. He doesn't use an axe. He uses fire, and takes out the Career camp in a single stroke before the Gamemakers think to make it rain.  
  
We're getting closer to my Games. Miracle Brea, Faraday Sykes, Lucanus Bazzett, Wealthy Gibson, Etta Bossard -- all lead-up years to the Quell. Faraday detests me for reasons I've never been sure of, and I'm not terribly fond of her. Miracle and I deal with each other well enough. The others, I only know on sight. My mentor, Albinus Drake, was in this run of victors -- the Forty-Fourth Games -- but he's dead. He won't be reaped for the Quell, so Peeta didn't get his reels. I don't know how he won. Beetee told me that he did a lot of tracking before the Career melee, which he ran from, but that doesn't tell me much. He was bright, but not very creative, and he was definitely not physically the strongest in the pack. I stop myself from asking for the tape. I don't want to think of him in the Games.  
  
We reach Brutus's Games -- the Forty-Ninth -- and watch him bluster through the whole thing. He's a standard Career winner: part of the hunting pack until melee, then besting the others through brute strength. He crows to the sky when the cannons go off, even as he's surrounded by the bodies of his erstwhile allies. Drake was his mentor, too, and does show up in the audience for the interviews. He looks excruciatingly bored. Maybe he didn't like Brutus much more than he liked me at first after all.  
  
I won't tell Brutus this. He's a jackass, but he was always quite devoted to Drake, possibly the only human being I've ever known him to care about. Besides, maybe Drake warmed up to him after he won, like he did with me, though I can't imagine why.  
  
I brace myself for my Quell, but Peeta just skips it without comment, moving on to Wiress's Games. I remember these well enough on my own. I was there, mentoring.  
  
I start to pay less attention. My mind wanders off on tangents of what we were doing in any given year outside the arena. I don't share this with Peeta. In his current mood, I don't think he'd take it well.  
  
We run every morning. I am hopeless at it. My lungs seize up and my legs don't want to cooperate. The old wound in my gut feels fresh and new.   
  
Peeta can't get his hands on proper training weights, so we spend hours lifting buckets of water, rocks, and, on occasion, Katniss. Katniss insists on trying to lift us, but doesn't get far.   
  
She can't get to her bows and arrows to teach us archery, but she does her best to teach aim with darts from Murphy's Pub (where Ruth gets my beer), and later, throwing knives. She seems annoyed that I can't hit the house with my knife, but this is nothing new. In the arena, I only had one extra knife, and it didn't seem like a good idea to throw it away. For Katniss, this is unthinkable. She's getting stronger on the training regimen, but she just doesn't have the build to be a physical player and never will. Peeta tries to teach her wrestling moves to throw an opponent, but she's as hopeless at it as I am at throwing knives. She depends completely on ranged weapons. She doesn't understand that Peeta and I can handle fighting in close quarters better than she can. She tells Peeta she doesn't want him getting in close to anyone anyway, and makes him practice throwing. He gets better. I do not.  
  
April melts away. Katniss shows us what she can find inside the fence as far as edible plants go, but it's not much. She claims that the dandelions our groundskeeper keeps pulling up are one of the best plants around (a statement which inexplicably causes her to blush and look away from Peeta, though he doesn't notice it). Peeta asks how they can figure out whether a new plant is edible, and we spend an afternoon with Ruth trying to figure it out, but nothing is surefire. If you're starving, the time it takes to determine toxicity could kill you anyway. Katniss turns seventeen at the beginning of May, and we don't pay any attention to it. Peeta turns seventeen three weeks later, and we ignore that, too.  
  
The gossip rags from the Capitol are full of gambling news. Katniss and Peeta supposedly have good odds. I am presumed to have some magical power to save them both by various fans of their romance -- unless I go into the arena, in which case my odds are nowhere near as good as theirs. My Games are not shown often, for obvious reasons, and all the audience sees when they _are_ shown is me being rescued by Maysilee and walking aimlessly through the woods. Johanna Mason has fanatic followers in the Capitol, and also has good odds. Finnick is regularly near the top. Beetee -- who will certainly be in the arena -- is spoken of in mournful tones… what a shame it will be to lose him. Wiress isn't even remembered.  
  
During all of this, Hazelle keeps my house pin neat, and takes it upon herself to put fresh wildflowers in all the vases. She cooks every damned thing in the world that I like, if she can get hold of it. We don't sleep together again, but she is kind to me, and one morning, when she comes in very early and accidentally wakes me up from a nightmare (all I remember is holding the kids while they burn in my arms), she takes my knife away from me gingerly, then crawls into bed and holds me until the horror goes away.  
  
That morning, I take her for a walk around the green and warn her, as well as I can, that something is coming. I can't be as explicit with her as I was with Danny, because she has never been in the inner circles, but I tell her to be ready, and to have an escape route. She seems frightened by the knowledge, but holds my hands tightly and promises to do what she can. She kisses me goodbye.  
  
The next day, I get a notice that I am not a licensed employer in District Twelve -- and that even if I were, I have abused my position -- and Hazelle is sent home by Peacekeepers pretending to be solicitous of her welfare.  
  
Two days later, I see Danny come into Victors' Village. He goes to Peeta's house, and the light goes on in the kitchen. They stay there all evening. At sunset, I see the Peacekeepers headed in to oust him -- he's not a legal resident of the Village -- and I go out and give them a few vague threats about the likelihood that Peeta will fight with them, and the possible consequences of him showing up bruised on national television.  
  
They go.  
  
I watch Danny and Peeta through the window for a while, rolling out dough on a table, moving around each other quietly. After a while, Danny sits down with his head in his hands, and Peeta sits beside him, putting a comforting arm over his shoulders.  
  
I go back to my empty house.  
  
The next day, Effie arrives for the Reaping.  
  
There are no surprises.   
  
Effie draws Katniss's name out of an otherwise empty bowl, then draws mine only to have Peeta volunteer. I don't fight it. I look back at the gathered crowd. On the bakery steps, Jonadab Mellark is holding up the baby to see her uncle. I don't know if Peeta even sees it. Mirrem and Danny are holding hands, looking tired and beaten. Delly Cartwright is weeping against Ed's shoulder. Ed looks like holding her is the only thing keeping him from killing everyone in sight. Ruth and Prim are standing together stoically in the crowd, Gale Hawthorne protecting them both. Hazelle gives me a long, unreadable look, then puts her arm around Ruth and starts comforting her.  
  
It's the first time in years that I've had anyone I wanted to say goodbye to, but Thread gleefully announces that there will be no time for goodbyes as we are all but frog-marched to the train. I hear Peeta tell Katniss something about writing letters. I don't think she'll even make an attempt.  
  
Effie follows me to my compartment and puts her foot in when I try to close the door.  
  
"What is it?" I ask. "I don't want to talk."  
  
"I have a letter for you. From Cinna." She holds out a white envelope with his company seal on it.  
  
I take it. "Oh. Thanks."  
  
She looks down, her crazy gold wig catching the sunlight and throwing it in bursts around the cabin. Her eyes seem sunken under the make-up, and I guess she's been doing her share of crying lately. Even the way she is now, she doesn't want this. "What are you going to do?"  
  
"Best I can," I say.  
  
She bites her lip, then reaches up and touches my face briefly. I meet her eyes. The girl she once was is very close to the surface now, but I know if I try to reach her, she'll run -- back to her pills, back to Capitol Dreams, back to anything that makes it less real. I squeeze her hand.  
  
There's nothing else to say. She leaves. I open the letter from Cinna.  
  
 _Haymitch,  
I guess you're not looking forward to these Games. I can't say I am, either, but the Head Gamemaker has given us quite a schedule. Peeta will have three major costumes, and Katniss will have four. The big ones will be for the parade. They have eleven circuits in each of them. Portia's outdone herself!  
  
I thought the mentors' meeting with the Gamemakers before the parade would be from seven to eight, but it turns out it'll be six to eight instead, so don't be late. It's all planned out, and you know how touchy the Gamemakers can be.  
  
Be careful. Let's try to avoid the alcohol poisoning this time around.  
  
Cinna_  
  
There has occasionally been a meeting of the mentors while tributes are being prepped, though usually we're left alone to meet with sponsors. It may even, by coincidence, be from six to eight o'clock before the parade, though that would be sort of late for it. It's generally in the afternoon before the parade. Cinna's note is telling me that the real meeting will be "late," and that Plutarch's got at least six districts in on it (3, 4, 6, 7, 8, and 11), and supposedly has a plan. I have not been impressed with Plutarch's "plans" so far, but I don't have a choice.  
  
District Six is a surprise. Berenice Morrow has been helpful, sure, but she's not the most reliable ally in the world. She's usually done up on morphling to a point where I doubt she even knows who's in charge.  
  
Generally speaking, this is the point in the trip to the Capitol where I start drinking, but I promised, and the gradually dwindling supply of beer over the last few months has helped the overbearing demand for it from my body. The mental demand is still there, though, and thinking about where I'm going and why gives me a raging desire to go to the bar car. I resist. I am fairly miserable through supper, and while I appreciate Effie's refusal of her own wine to support me, I'm in no mood to say anything at all. And if she starts dressing us up like a matched set of salt and pepper shakers, which she threatens, I may have to do something desperate.  
  
I would rather not think about who's going into the arena, but of course, we have to. We have to know who we're up against. Effie turns on the recaps of the Reapings.  
  
Gloss and Cashmere from One -- I've had a few drinks with them in the better quality bars in the Capitol. I don't have much of an opinion. Cashmere was a bit cool to me after Katniss dropped tracker jackers on her tribute, but Gloss was actually at least a little bit ashamed of Marvel's trap to spear Rue. He admires Katniss's archery skills, but he'll try to get any bow they put in the Cornucopia.  
  
Enobaria and Brutus from District Two, no surprise. Brutus loves the Games. He nearly pushes aside the rest of the victors to volunteer in place of one of the younger men (a scarred kid named Philo who won after Finnick's games). Enobaria is Reaped normally, but she responds to it with a victory sign and a war whoop. There are six other women in the pool there. None of them volunteer, and one, a middle-aged woman who I only know vaguely, since she doesn’t come to the Games, looks openly disgusted with the proceedings. She leans over and whispers something to Saffron, who nods solemnly.  
  
Beetee and Wiress aren't just the only living victors in District Three, but the only victors they've ever had. The Reaping is just a formality.  
  
The first surprise comes in District Four. I had envisioned Mags being drawn, and a younger victor volunteering for her. Instead, Annie Cresta is drawn, and at the sound of her screams, Mags herself volunteers. There's one other female victor -- Desandi Matta -- but she doesn't step forward. Finnick is Reaped next. The other two male victors -- old Hennesy Doolin and a man named Harris Greaves, who once killed my tribute by drowning him face-first in the mud -- don't even make a move. In years past, there would have been more, but Four's status as an effective career district has been on the decline for a while.  
  
District Five -- Faraday Sikes, who mentored Finch last year and gets a nod for her tribute's cleverness, and Thalis Dorgan, a man who makes me look like an exemplar of sobriety. We went on a bender together once, but that's really all I know.  
  
Six, like Three, only has two victors, Berenice Morrow and Paulin Gibbs. At the Reaping, they're so done up on morphling that I'm not sure they even know what's happening. Berenice gapes at the Reaping balls, and says the light on them is pretty and makes rainbows.  
  
Johanna is the only female victor from Seven. Between the two men, it turns out to be Blight Hedge, which I guess means that Jack Anderson will be the mentor. He hasn't mentored since Johanna won and took over mentoring the girl, though he comes for the parade and is a huge fan of Cinna's.  
  
I can barely stand to watch Eight. Cecelia's children won't let go of her, but there's no choice here, either. Woof has to be told that his name has been called and guided up to the stage. His wife watches stoically. The sleeve of her dress has been deliberately torn.  
  
District Nine has always kept to itself. They have three female victors and two men, all older than I am, at least by a little bit, and very reserved. I don't know them. Thelma Cotton and Hector Whiting are drawn.  
  
District Ten has four victors, two of each flavor. I've had meals with all of them at one point or another. They choose Kate Markez and Earl Bates. Earl's talent was doing some kind of western dancing, and he always likes to entertain people in Capitol bars, teaching them to kick up their heels. The other man, Toffilis Taggart, goes up and whispers something urgently to the escort, who shrugs without any concern.  
  
In District Eleven, there are only Chaff and Seeder. Two of my oldest friends, the first victors to take me in after I won. I knew it going in, but actually seeing it is something else. They don't weep, and no one makes a fuss, but I know Eleven. Somewhere, the rebellion is taking action already.  
  
Of the districts Cinna named in his note, four of them have no extra victors at all, which means that their representatives will be assigned from the victor pools where there are extras, mostly One and Two. That's not a good sign.  
  
I can't take it anymore. I go back to my compartment to sleep. I know there will be nightmares, but the waking world isn't much better. Sure enough, I'm in the arena with Katniss and Peeta, and they die, over and over. Maysilee shows up, covered with blood and shaking in her final moments. Digger melts on the fence. Somewhere, I hear Caesar Flickerman say, "So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" I hear myself answer -- all the bitterness of my life on the Seam boiled down into a few words -- and then fall deeper into sleep. I'm walking with Maysilee, who is also Katniss and Digger and Hazelle and Ruth. She dies. She comes back. Dies again. Peeta is buried in the mud, but when I dig him out, it's just his severed head. Katniss screams and tries to kill me.  
  
Maysilee wants to know where we are going. She doesn't want us to be the last two. I try to tell her we could try nightlock berries, but she just keeps walking away, and I am laughing. I hear myself laughing.  
  
The dream changes, and I am in a dark room, and I feel like I'm moving. I pick up my knife and get up. I hear Maysilee scream.  
  
I blink.  
  
I am not dreaming.  
  
I'm on the train, in my compartment. Maysilee is still screaming. I put the knife down and open the door, head down the train toward the sound. There is a flickering light in the television room. I see the kids on the couch. They are watching my Games. They don't even notice me behind them. I watch myself take Maysilee's hand, hold it tight. I know she won't say anything, but I want her to. I'm not sure what I want her to say, but I remember feeling like, if she could just speak, somehow, she'd explain it all.  
  
The highlight tape cuts away after her cannon goes off, switching to the other players. It doesn't show me picking up Maysilee's body, trying to make her wake up. It doesn't show me sitting there for two hours, thinking that I can be there when the hovercraft comes. Thinking I can take my knife and start taking them out, same as I took out the Careers when they attacked me. Of course, they just send down the hook, blasting me away with a harsh wind, giving me a concussion until nightfall. I never see any of them. When I come to, I decide then to win, whatever it takes, because I want to get out of this arena and kill them all. I'm pretty sure I actually yelled that at the hovercraft, but that, of course, was not preserved for posterity.  
  
The tape moves on to showing that insane girl from District One (her name was Filigree) killing her one remaining district partner in hand to hand combat. She was crazy even in training, and freakishly large, at least to my malnourished District Twelve eyes. She was the one who slit Beech's throat at the Cornucopia.  
  
I go to the mini-bar and grab a bottle of wine. If I'm going to watch what I assume I'm about to watch, to hell with sobriety. The last of the other boys, Kushi Rowe, is attacked by a pack of those golden squirrels, and it's down to me and Filigree. The highlights skip the hours of us hunting each other and go straight to me dropping out of a tree in front of her and taking a wild swing at her with my knife. I know my plan is to trick her into the forcefield. Not originally to use the reflexive properties, but to actually throw the crazy bitch herself into it.  
  
She was faster and stronger than I anticipated. I can no longer remember what it felt like when her axe slammed into my side. They cleaned up the scar on the outside, of course, though there's still scar tissue inside, and I ended up losing a foot of my small intestine. I took another wild swing with my knife that ended up in her eye, and I twisted, hoping that I'd make it to her brain. She pushed me off, not hard in my condition, and pulled my knife out of her own head to throw away.  
  
The forcefield was all I had left, and I ran for it. The whole world narrowed down to the race between my death and the cliff. That run seemed to go on longer than the rest of the Games combined. Even when I got to the cliff, I thought I'd lost. I couldn't go a step further. The world went dark. I honestly don't remember her throwing her axe, or it coming back over me. I only know about it because I've seen this tape before. I was unconscious by then. I was out of commission for the better part of the month, the first of many times in my career as a victor that I infuriated Snow.  
  
I slowly become aware that the tape is no longer playing. Peeta is talking rapidly, and I have never heard him sound so impressed. "...Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon!"  
  
Katniss is staring at the screen, an astounded smile on her face. "Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too! You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!" She laughs, and it's the first time I've seen hope on her face since... well, even before the Reaping, Katniss Everdeen wasn't exactly known for being a glass-half-full type.  
  
She's proud of me.  
  
I can't be angry at them for grabbing the tape. Hell, I probably should have told them about it a long time ago. She knows what it meant, even with my raving edited out. And that the Capitol was not stupid enough to miss it -- that it was almost as bad as her handful of poison berries. I say, "Almost, but not quite."  
  
They turn and look at me guiltily, but I take a swig of wine and smile at them. We all understand each other now, I think. They smile back.  
  
I ruffle Peeta's hair and say, "Get some sleep. And I mean sleep, or Effie'll kill us all before the Gamemakers get their chance."  
  
They laugh. I go back to my compartment and sleep the rest of the night through. The kids are still asleep on the couch when we pull into the Capitol, and the television is on, playing a musical about Capitol kids who really want to win a singing contest. It looks like the most scandalous thing they did was have a popcorn fight.  
  
The crowd at the train station is weirdly subdued. Katniss and Peeta have only been here once, and I doubt they notice it, but this is my twenty-fifth trip, and I know what's normal. They're usually screaming and dancing at the sight of tributes. Today, they're watching solemnly, with wide eyes. A teenage girl sporting what Effie calls "the natural trend" -- a long braid and no makeup -- who has pushed her way up to the front to see Katniss takes one look and buries herself in her boyfriend's arms. The boy comforts her, then looks up at me and raises his fist. I don't know what that means. It could mean that he's trying to say he's on our side, or that somehow, he blames me for this predicament. It's hard to tell in the Capitol.  
  
Katniss is whisked off for prep as soon as we get to the training center. Peeta only has a few minutes longer, during which he confers quietly with Effie about something, and hands her his camera. Then Claudia and Sergius drag him off for hair and skin treatment. Valentine isn't needed quite yet (though I see she's carrying her trusty syringe). I ask her for more detox pills. She already has a large bottle ready for me.  
  
"You make sure to take them," she says quietly, and I guess that Portia has told her that I wasn't afflicted with alcohol poisoning last time I was here. "Every day."  
  
"I will," I tell her.  
  
She starts crying. "Why are they doing this? Why would they kill Peeta?"  
  
"Why would they have done it last year?" I ask.  
  
She has no answer. I don't know if she's working through it and realizing what I mean, or if she just thinks the difference between a victor and tribute is too obvious to mention, but she leaves without saying another word.  
  
When Cinna arrives, he's not surprised by this. "Octavia's been having crying jags since they announced the Quell," he says, turning on the water in the kitchenette. "Girls are getting in trouble in school for writing stories where Peeta and Katniss escape together. Sometimes with Finnick. My neighbor's daughter was suspended from school for saying they should be allowed to live."  
  
"Doesn't sound like what was intended."  
  
"Sure it does. This one's as much a punishment for the Capitol as the districts. They had the nerve to be on Katniss's side." He turns off the water and fishes a black box out of his coat pocket. "Effie says you're not interested in picking a district token for yourself, so I took the liberty." He tosses me the box.  
  
I open it. It's a solid gold bracelet engraved with flames. "I wasn't interested in picking one because I'm not interested in being a matched set."  
  
"You never know when a matched set is useful," Cinna says. "So shut up and wear it."  
  
He waits for me to put it on, then leaves to get Katniss ready for the tribute parade.  
  
A few minutes later, I'm summoned down for an actual mentors' meeting, which will go from three until five (Effie says she'll take the sponsor meetings she set up for me). If there's anything from six to eight, I'm not told about it.   
  
Plutarch is at the head of the room when I get in, but he doesn't acknowledge me in any particular way.  
  
So many of the regular mentors are being prepped as tributes that it seems like a gathering of strangers, even though I have a vague knowledge of them. Districts One and Two can afford two mentors per team as usual, plus extras to look after Three, Six, and Eight. Some of the younger mentors seem confused by it, but until every district had a winner (District Six was the last), there were loaners every year. One of the new ones is the stern looking woman from Two who I noticed talking to Saffron. Her name turns out to be Lyme -- we watched her Games, but she barely resembles the girl on the tape -- and she tells me that she'll be mentoring Berenice and Paulin. She ignores the sympathetic glances she gets from regulars, and the snickers she gets from the other District Two victors. She is chatting in a friendly way with Philo, the scarred kid who was first Reaped before Brutus volunteered.   
  
When she turns, I see her earrings. They are solid gold, out of place with her austere appearance. They are shaped like flames.  
  
I look up and down the table. Harris Greaves from Four has flames on his cufflinks. (Annie is not present, which makes me nervous.) Jack Anderson from Seven, always a little flamboyant (so to speak), has dyed his hair red and orange and yellow. Toffilis Taggart from Ten has been called to mentor for Eleven, and has a giant gold belt-buckle that depicts a campfire. I glance at the Career mentors assigned to District Three and District Eight, but they have nothing identifiable happening. The other victor from Ten, assigned to her own district, is also clear of rebel signs. It's definitely planned. I push up my cuff and show my bracelet, then hide it again.  
  
Plutarch is wearing a vest with a subtle red and orange embroidery on it. He calls the meeting to order. Most of it is standard instruction, the sort of thing I got my first year, which hasn't been mandatory for experienced mentors since before Finnick's Games. I assume it's a cover for something coming later. He reminds us of the new rule from last year, that district gifts can't be transferred.  
  
"What if there's an alliance?" Lyme asks. "And our tributes decide to share?"  
  
"That's their business," Plutarch tells her dismissively.  
  
"You can tell _she_ hasn't mentored for a while," one of the District One mentors whispers loudly.  
  
"Neither have you," I say. "Given that I've been here twenty-four years and I've never seen you in the Viewing Center."  
  
His face goes red, and he shuts up.  
  
Plutarch waits for this to pass, then goes on. "I have also been instructed to inform you -- and strongly advise you to inform your tributes -- that there will be no exceptions this year. There will be no testing of the Games, and no changes in the rules. I assure you that this year's arena is not a place to express dissent."  
  
"What is this year's arena?" Jack asks, possibly to disguise his dismay at having to tell Johanna Mason that she can't express anything she damned well pleases in any place she chooses to express it.  
  
Plutarch smiles. "I can't very well tell you, can I? But I think District Four may well enjoy it."  
  
I somehow doubt that anyone will enjoy it, but I guess that's a hint that there will be a lot of water. This is nothing any of them can train for, unless they've installed a swimming pool in the training center since last year.  
  
After prattling for almost forty-five minutes, Plutarch checks his watch and says, "That's all for most of us, but I'd like the following mentors to remain. Most of you are new or have been away for a while, and Haymitch Abernathy always needs reminders."  
  
I make a rude gesture at him, which gets a laugh from everyone but Fulvia, who's appeared at his side at some point in the proceedings.  
  
Plutarch looks down at a list and begins to call names -- everyone who's wearing a flame sign, and no one who isn't.  
  
The others leave, and for a long moment, we all look at each other, sizing each other up. I'm wondering how many of the newcomers might be spies, and it occurs to me that many of them might be wondering if they've walked into a trap.  
  
But it's too late to indulge suspicions.  
  
The rebellion has to start now. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch convinces the other rebel mentors to protect Peeta, then, after the tribute parade, meets with his old friends.

**Chapter Fifteen**  
Plutarch makes a great show of putting one of Fulvia's bug detectors down on the table. This one is bigger than the ones we've used for our conversations out at the fountain, but it's perfectly clear what it is. Its lights flash rapidly, and a kind of soft whistle passes through the room. The green light goes on. We're clear.  
  
A side door opens and two women I recognize from the stylists' pool come in. One of them has snips of wire all over her clothes, and a giant, flame-shaped hair-clip. The other is carrying a bolt of red cloth. Plutarch gestures to them. "Our liaisons for Districts Eight and Three," he says. "Come in, ladies." He nods to the one with the flame hair clip and says, "This is Nerilla Watson. She's our stylist in Three. She's been working with Fulvia and me in the Capitol for several years." He smiles at the other in a rehearsed way. "Cloelia Dangelis is new to me, but apparently, she's been helping Cecelia since her wedding."  
  
We all look at each other awkwardly, then the two stylists come in and sit down.  
  
I look at Harris. "Where is Annie Cresta?"   
  
He sighs. "She was pretty upset at the Reaping--"  
  
"I saw that."  
  
"Yeah, well, the Peacekeepers told us she was too fragile to travel. Neither of the other victors volunteered to mentor in her place, which is why I'm here alone."  
  
"I hope that means they're getting ready to fight," Jack says.  
  
Harris nods. "We've been ready to fight since they blew up Doolin Odair's boat. We've just been waiting for the sign from the rebellion."  
  
"And Annie?" I prod.  
  
"Finnick's pretty sure they're keeping a close eye on her."  
  
"Great."  
  
"We do have a few friends among the Peacekeepers," Harris says, "and the mayor's one of ours, so hopefully, that'll keep her out of trouble long enough to get her into rebel hands. We do hold the shipyards, and they're clearing the mines out of the bay. The girl Winnow that you sent? She's a treasure. She's been getting people out right from under the Capitol's nose and getting them onto ships. The plan is to get Annie out to sea as soon as her guards blink."  
  
Plutarch looks dour at the derailing of his meeting for such trivial matters. "I was not exaggerating my warning. What we are planning here will have consequences beyond anything we've seen before."  
  
"We know," Lyme says impatiently.  
  
"And you've all talked to your tributes about our goal concerning the mockingjay?"  
  
They shift uncomfortably, and Jack says, "Well, I'm sure you can imagine Jo's reaction. She thinks the whole plan's nuts. But she's on board. She'll do what she has to."  
  
"Cecelia as well," Cloelia says. I doubt she knows exactly what's happening next. "Cecelia sent this." She unfolds a few flaps of fabric from her bolt, and pulls out a paper on which Cecelia has drawn a mockingjay. It is surrounded protectively by the number eight.  
  
Lyme takes the paper and looks at it for a long time. "Does this child have the slightest idea what's happening?"  
  
"No," I admit.  
  
"Have you asked her about it?"  
  
"About whether or not she wants to beat the Capitol? She says she wants to start an uprising."  
  
"That's not an answer."  
  
"I told you when I came to Two," Plutarch says, "we have to earn her trust before we can reveal ourselves to her. And, may I remind you, if the Capitol realizes that anything untoward is going on, they will scoop up Katniss and Peeta first. It's not good for them to know anything."  
  
Lyme looks at the mockingjay drawing again, then says, softly, "Poor kids."  
  
"So we've all agreed to keep the mockingjay alive? All of your tributes have agreed?"  
  
There is general consent.  
  
"Then we're about done," Plutarch says.  
  
"No, we're not," I say. "There's one other thing. Peeta. There's no way she'll do this if Peeta dies. She won't be able to."  
  
Nerilla frowns. "I understand about the girl. Plutarch showed me the reports on the kind of effect she's had in the districts. But I don't know if I can -- or should -- ask Beetee and Wiress to die for the boy. He doesn't seem to care much about being a rebel."  
  
There's some uncomfortable nodding around the table, even from Harris, though I doubt Finnick and Mags would have any argument about trying to save Peeta.  
  
Lyme, who I'm beginning to like a good deal, says, "I'm for it, and the tributes from Six will be for it. Berenice saw his paintings on television. She was crying that he would have to die, because he paints pretty things. It was her talent, too, before she fried her brain." She gives an embarrassed little shrug. "Well, we're trying to sober her up before the arena, but morphling's no laughing matter."  
  
"So Six will help freely," Plutarch says. "Good."  
  
"And I'll help personally," Lyme says. "However I can. Because unless you all come to your senses, those two kids are both going in blind, and I'm betting they're all wound up to die for each other, right?"  
  
I nod.  
  
She hisses and clenches her fists. "Since we're not telling them that there's going to be a jailbreak, they'll be acting out of desperation. Those of us _not_ going in blind owe them something, no matter what the status of the war."  
  
Jack Anderson snorts. "By that reasoning, we should all take special care of the Careers, too."  
  
"I'd argue that we _should_ ," Lyme says. "On the other hand, they'll be killing right out of the gate. Trust me, Brutus can't wait to start cutting -- and I should probably mention that he especially wants to cut the Mellark boy. He's furious about what happened last year." She looks at the paper again. "We'll want to keep the tributes from Twelve out of fights. I think the best bet is to have them in our alliances from the start, and have our tributes pull them away from fights."  
  
This is something of a flaw in the plan. Peeta will want to make allies, sure -- hell, he'll want to make actual _friends_ \-- but Katniss only allies with people who she thinks need taking care of. If she senses that they're looking after her, she'll bolt.  
  
Cloelia says, "Cecelia says that District Eight loves Peeta, because the girl last year... well, it seems weird to me, but that's what she says. I think she'll help. Woof doesn't really know what's going on at all these days."  
  
Jack sighs. "Well -- you know how Jo is. She thinks the whole love story's a joke. But she's in. Blight might take some convincing."  
  
"How much does Blight know?" Plutarch asks.  
  
"Everything." Jack shrugs. "I know. He's been on the sidelines since the thing with the raiders. But we all had to talk about how we were going to do this. He volunteered to go into the arena no matter who got drawn. Jo and I both decided to bring him back in."  
  
"That wasn't your call."  
  
Jack grits his teeth. "I'm the one he agreed to risk dying for," he says. "I think that makes it my call."  
  
Toffy Taggart, who's assigned to Chaff and Seeder, speaks up. "My tributes are more or less mentoring me, as I'm sure you've all guessed by now. I didn't know much about any of this. But they're good folk, and they told me to tell you that their game plan is to keep as many alive as possible until you get everyone out. They'll definitely help Peeta. Probably the Careers if they can. They don't see why anyone needs to die on this one."  
  
This sounds like Chaff and Seeder, but I somehow doubt this plan is going to work well. I look at Plutarch. "What's the arena?"  
  
He shakes his head. "If your tributes look like they're even a little bit prepared for it, we'll all get hauled in, and the whole thing falls apart. I gave Katniss a hint on the Victory Tour, but I don't think she picked it up, and that's probably just as well. I'll just tell you this -- make sure they're ready for anything. We started designing it while I was still… well, during the time I wasn't involved in the rebellion… and it's deadly."  
  
Another flaw in the plan occurs to me: I may kill Plutarch before we get out of here. I really may not be able to stop myself.  
  
I think of the gallows standing in District Twelve, remember that we're all in this together, and force myself to stop thinking about it.  
  
Plutarch declares the meeting over, but calls me up alone. Great. He waits until the others have left, then says, "Our friends are not a matter of public knowledge, even here. As far as they know, the District rebellions are overseeing the escape. Unfortunately, all of our more deeply knowledgeable members are in the arena."  
  
"What a shame," I say, "that we don't have someone controlling the Games who could keep them alive."  
  
"I told you. Any suspicious behavior in the arena, and Snow will send in the fighters. Do you really want the arena surrounded by combat hovercraft before a rescue craft can get there?"  
  
"Why not just station one there and fish everyone out as soon as they're clear of the mines?"  
  
"Because the airspace is inspected before the Games to make sure no one is planning what we're planning. The supply hovercrafts are inspected as well, and everyone on board is a loyalist. Speaking of which..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, you'll need to make a show of getting sponsors -- not that you should have much trouble, given your tributes this year -- but we have, shall we say, arranged programs to make it look like you have money even if you don't. What we need to send, I'll send. Does that help?"  
  
I still think it would be easier to make the arena "malfunction," but at least it's something. I nod and start to leave, but he stops me. I turn around. "What else?"  
  
"You're wanted at Caesar's studio," he says. "You and the stylists are supposed to watch the parade from there. Between being a Quell victor yourself and the mentor for last year's victors, you're quite in demand, I'm afraid."  
  
"We have to get them ready!"  
  
"The stylists have had all afternoon, and I doubt you need to coach them on how to stand up in a chariot."  
  
With that, I am dismissed. A car is waiting to whisk me over to the studio, where I find Cinna and Portia, both looking annoyed, waiting for me.  
  
"Don't look at me," I say. "I had no idea we were coming here."  
  
"I'm glad I taught her how to work the suit," Cinna says. He grinds his teeth. "Wait until you see what Snow's demanded for the interview."  
  
There's no way to talk about anything else, which is probably why Snow really has us showing up here. Caesar himself comes out, all smiles, and declares that Portia and Cinna are air-worthy already, but I, as usual, am a mess. He sends them up to the stage to talk costumes, then puts a hand jovially on my shoulder and leads me to the prep area. Razors are buzzing, make-up sprayers are spraying, and the environment is generally chaotic.  
  
When I turn around, Caesar is still grinning, but his voice is low and serious. "Watch your step," he says. "You're being watched."  
  
"I know."  
  
He claps my shoulder and gives an avuncular laugh for no particular reason. "I like you, Haymitch. Always did. And I like your kids. I'm sorry as hell this is happening."  
  
I smile back and nod. "You hate the Games."  
  
He laughs again and says, "You have no idea how much. But don't make a mistake here. You've played it smart so far."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I hate the Games. I hate Snow. But I'd no more put Panem in the hands of those crazy people rioting in the streets of the Districts than I'd leave a rabid dog on guard duty." He claps my shoulder again, like we're sharing a great joke. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"  
  
"Are _you?_ "  
  
He laughs for a long time, then says, "Yeah. Yeah, I know what I'm doing, Haymitch. I'll rub their faces in this dirty business as hard as I can. It's going to be hard to keep control after this, no matter what. But _watch your step._ Be careful who you trust." He gives me one more shoulder clap, then steers me toward a prep booth and leaves.  
  
Sergius and Claudia do what they can with me, which they say is not much, and Valentine brings in a shot that she claims is to help control my drinking. "It's very strong," she says. "Much stronger than the pills. In case someone absolutely insists you start drinking. It should last a few days, at least, even if you can't get to your pills." I thank her.  
  
When I get up to the stage, Cinna and Portia are involved in a deep conversation with Claudius Templesmith about how they've become the design house to imitate since last year's triumph. No details have been leaked about this year's costumes, which seems to irritate Claudius.  
  
He spots me. "Ah, Haymitch Abernathy! Come, sit down."  
  
I paint on a smile and take a seat beside Portia. "Claudius," I say.  
  
"Have you seen the parade costumes?" he asks.  
  
"Not even a sketch," I tell him. "Cinna's pretty tight-lipped."  
  
"It's a big year for you, too," Claudius says. "Are there any plans to celebrate the anniversary of your Quell?"  
  
 _Sure,_ I think. _I thought I'd call up my friend Maysilee, and we'd have a party with the other forty-six tributes you murdered_. I just say, "Not unless you've got something up your sleeve."  
  
This fascinating conversation goes on for ten minutes before Claudius says, "Ah! Our mystery will be solved soon!" He turns to a screen posted above his desk (undoubtedly, viewers at home will be getting this on the full screen, possibly with our reactions off in the corners). It shows the basement of the Training Center, where people are gathered around the chariots. Finnick is standing way too close to Katniss, though she sends him away as we watch. Peeta does not help matters when he arrives a few seconds later and is amused by her obvious discomfort. We can't hear them. The basement is not effectively bugged.  
  
Katniss and Peeta are wearing what appear to be black jumpsuits, though their faces are made up bizarrely. As they get into the chariot, the jumpsuits light up and start to flicker.  
  
The shot cuts over to the exit, and we see the chariots come out. There are an absurd number of illuminated costumes, and I can see Cinna trying not to laugh at some of them. District One has somewhat subtle lighting making jewels glitter, and Two has statues carrying torches. Three makes sense with electrical lights, though Beetee and Wiress look ridiculous in skin tight outfits. I want to cover my eyes on Four -- Finnick has been forced into a strategically knotted net, which the cameras treat people to a long shot of. Mags is done up like a deep water fish with its own lighting. It was obviously designed with Annie in mind, and Mags looks terrible.  
  
Five has fake lightning over the costumes. In Six, there are train headlights placed in highly unfortunate places, though Berenice and Paulin don't seem to realize it, and are waving vaguely to the audience. Johanna and Blight are at least not lit up, though Johanna looks as happy as I'd expect her to look dressed up as a tree for the second time in her life. Cecelia is in a dress that's only half-woven, but Woof is happily completely covered. The poor District Nine tributes are loaves of bread, and have wheat-shaped hats on with light bulbs for the grains. District Ten... has flaming belts on cow suits. (Cinna takes a sudden gulp of water and coughs.) Chaff and Seeder are forced into skimpy field-hand costumes, with straw hats and grain stalks in their teeth; Chaff looks extremely angry. The only saving grace is that they aren't on fire.  
  
When Katniss and Peeta come out, there is an audible gasp from the crowd. Cinna has turned them into embers, burning in the twilight. They are holding hands and ignoring everyone around them. They are inhuman -- beautiful and terrible.  
  
Last year, people threw kisses and screamed their names. This year, I see more than one person in the parade audience burst into tears and sink to the pavement in despair. A cut to Snow shows his jaw clenched shut, his eyes frozen in fury.  
  
In the studio, Claudius looks taken aback. He glances at Cinna and asks about the technology, trying to direct attention to anything other than the angry, vengeful gods in the chariot below. Cinna gives very brief answers, and lets the silence draw itself out as Claudius struggles for the next distraction. He tries Portia, but she (ridiculously) claims that Cinna's the one with all of the information.  
  
Finally, the speeches take over the programming, and the three of us are released. We go down to the Training Center basement, where all of the other mentors are waiting. I take the opportunity to talk to Lyme, though we can't say anything of significance. She won the Thirty-First Games, it turns out, and stepped down as mentor as soon as someone "more appropriate" could be found. She shrugs. "Turns out that I didn't fit the mold of a victor. I wanted a job. I worked in the quarries for a while until they made rules about it."  
  
"A guy in Twelve I've met seems to know you," I say. "Romulus Thread?"  
  
She laughs. "Yeah. Oh, I know Rommy. He's my cousin. He got Reaped two years after I won, but someone out-volunteered him. He's never gotten over the disappointment."  
  
I somehow doubt it's that simple. Thread didn't strike me as anything but frighteningly sincere. But family is family, and there's no point pushing for more answers. If all goes as planned, I'm not going to be seeing Romulus Thread again any time soon. For that matter, even if nothing goes as planned, the chances of me seeing him again are pretty slim.  
  
I go over to Finnick's chariot as soon as it pulls in. "Nice outfit," I say, and wave over him. "Hey, Mags."  
  
Mags mumbles something, but since her stroke, I haven't been able to understand much. I decide to take it as a greeting and give her a little hug. "Saw your games while we were getting ready," I tell her. "I need to remember not to make you angry."  
  
She smiles and mimes shooting at me with a slingshot, then hobbles over to talk to Wiress. Somehow or other, they seem to understand each other.  
  
"You watched everyone's Games?" Finnick asks.  
  
"Peeta's idea. I mostly try to forget about it. How are you holding up?"  
  
"Not bad. Annie's scared, though. I'm worried about what's going to happen to her." He shrugs. "I'm actually feeling pretty good, though, personally."  
  
"Well, you're certainly getting a chance to enjoy the weather," I say, pointing at his costume.  
  
He snorts. "This is probably the least of me my sponsors have seen since my Games. I don't have a single date all week. It's like a vacation if I ignore the death and destruction at the end of it."  
  
"Saw you harassing my tribute earlier."  
  
"Had to do it, after the backpack thing last year." He laughs. "I think she got redder than her suit, though it was hard to tell under that makeup."  
  
I have no doubt about it. She's gotten a little less squeamish about bodies over the last few months -- too many of them on her kitchen tables -- but as far as people she allows to get physically close to her, the list starts with her sister, sometimes snags on Gale and Cinna, and ends at Peeta. I don't think she counts her preps. "You didn't help yourself if you want her for an ally," I say, hoping that anyone from the Games will just think I'm talking about the usual arena partnerships.  
  
"Ah, she'll love me once she knows me. Everyone does. Besides, we have to make her feel like part of the gang, don't we?" He gives his best television grin as the District Six chariot pulls in. Berenice jumps out (wobbling as she lands) and watches avidly for the rest.  
  
Johanna barely waits for her chariot to stop before getting out and coming over. "I hate you, Abernathy," she says by way of greeting. "How did you score Cinna, anyway?"  
  
"Effie got him for me."  
  
"How'd you score _Effie_?"  
  
"Blind luck." This is nonsense -- Caesar hand-picked Effie for my team because he thought we'd like each other -- but Jo doesn't push it. "And as to Cinna, he wanted in because he had an excuse to set us on fire."  
  
Johanna swats at the leaves dangling around her face. "Well, I want a little of your luck. _Trees._ Again. This year, they're made out of paper. Double credit." She rolls her eyes. "Probably a good thing my stylist didn't have matches." She spots Jack coming from the crowd and heads over to him, fuming a little more as she goes.  
  
Cecelia and Woof come next, and Cecelia runs for her purse, where she has pictures of her kids. One is learning to play the harp, and another is running for sport. The littlest one seems to occupy his time by covering his face with a great deal of food. They're a little more distinguishable from one another than babies are, but I still probably couldn't pick them out in a crowd. I tell her they're growing just like little weeds, and the older girl looks just like her.  
  
By the time we're done with this, Chaff and Seeder are pulling in. I go over to their chariot to check on them. "You meet Toffilis?" Chaff asks.  
  
"Yup. I remember him from my first year. He hasn't been around much."  
  
"Nice guy. I'd pretty much forgotten about him. It was his tribute who took a dive off a cliff one year. Fifty-sixth, maybe?" I have no memory of this, so I don't say anything. Chaff shrugs. "That's when he stopped coming, anyway." He reaches up with his good arm to help Seeder down, and shakes his head at her field hand costume. "Capitol's known us for years," he says. "They could have used our talents. I'd have made a good chess knight, don't you think? I could've ridden the horse. And we could have dressed Seeder up in her best ballet dress." He wrinkles his nose.  
  
Seeder sighs. "It's over, Chaff. Let it go."  
  
"Like hell I will." He looks up as the door opens and Katniss and Peeta come in, still smoldering. "Now, _that_ was genius," he says, nodding toward Katniss. "You have a long talk with her yet?"  
  
I shake my head. "Finnick thinks we should make her one of the gang."  
  
"And the boy?" Seeder asks.  
  
"Peeta's part of whatever gang takes him in."  
  
"Then let's make sure he's in ours."  
  
The doors close and Katniss looks over to me. I wave to let her know I saw her -- like she can be missed at the moment -- and lead Chaff and Seeder over. I know they've wanted to meet Katniss, ever since she allied with Rue. They weren't allowed at the victory events, to avoid the appearance of a permanent alliance between the districts, but now that they're all fellow tributes under orders to kill each other, it should be fine.  
  
Seeder embraces Katniss as soon as she sees her, and, to my shock, Katniss doesn't even try to pull away. Instead, she asks, "The families?"  
  
It takes me a minute to sort it out, then I remember that she hasn't been getting updates. She has no idea who died in Eleven other than the old man who whistled. I could have told her that at any time, but for some reason, it never came up. I'd have found a way to tell her that. I just forgot.  
  
Seeder says, "They're alive," and Katniss relaxes and pulls away.  
  
I realize what Chaff means to do only a second before he does it -- he grabs her and plants a kiss on her mouth.  
  
Katniss pulls away, her face twisted up like she's just been force fed a rotten lemon. Chaff laughs so genuinely that I can't help laughing along, though I'm sure Katniss will make me pay for it later.  
  
This is too much fun for the Capitol to tolerate, and attendants come in to sweep us off to the elevators. Johanna rushes by us to get in with Peeta and Katniss, and I don't even want to know what she has planned for a hello.  
  
I go up with Chaff and Seeder in the car furthest from the kids, and we're joined by Toffy, but it would be stupid to talk about anything on the Training Center elevators, so we just compliment Cinna's costumes. Chaff tells Toffy, "If neither of us is around to mentor Eleven next year, get us a new stylist. I don't care who it is."  
  
If the Games are on again next year, I think District Eleven will have bigger worries than costuming, but no one says anything about this.   
  
After they get off on the eleventh floor, I ride alone up to the top. Effie is waiting for me, looking like she's been given a room full of birthday presents. "They were wonderful!" she says, clasping her hands together. Over her shoulder, I can see them near their elevator, where Peeta is looking humorously contrite and Katniss looks furious. "Everyone loves them so! I already have people lined up to talk to you for sponsorships. It's even better than last year!"  
  
She hands me a handheld screen. Some of the richest sponsors in the Capitol are begging to see me about them, though they can't officially give me money until the Games begin. I'll be able to hand the kids anything they need without using Plutarch's favors. I don't know why this pleases me inordinately, but it does.  
  
We go to join them. Katniss is definitely in a temper, and I wonder what Johanna did. My guess is that she kissed Peeta, but since no cannons have gone off and there doesn't seem to be any blood on Katniss's hands, I may be wrong about that. Whatever it was, Peeta's amusement at it just seems to make her angrier.  
  
I suppress a desire to hug her, because I think she's probably had her space invaded one time too many tonight, but I like this temper tantrum she's having. It's far from her maudlin moods at home, and not tied to death or self-sacrifice. She's just a teenage girl having a snit. I wish she'd have them more often.  
  
We go to the main door, Peeta barely suppressing a laugh, Effie in high spirits, Katniss on her high horse. It opens, and it takes a minute to process what I see.  
  
There are two Avoxes waiting inside. One is Lavinia, the girl from last year that Katniss obviously knew from somewhere, who Peeta ridiculously claimed looked like Delly Cartwright.  
  
The other is Darius.  
  
"Looks like they've got you a matched set this year!" Effie says brightly, and it takes a lot of strength to remember that she has no idea what she sounds like anymore.  
  
I grab Katniss's hand before she can say anything that will be taken out on the Avoxes, but there's no need. She's just standing, gape-mouthed, apparently unable to say anything at all. She twists her arm away from me and runs to her room.  
  
"My goodness," Effie says. "What's gotten into her?"  
  
Peeta's lingering amusement has disappeared. "She'll be all right," he says, and looks directly at Darius. He knows better than to say anything or reach out, but I see their eyes meet. Darius looks down.  
  
"Could you get us some..." I try to think of something. "Water?"  
  
Darius nods, thankful to be sent away. The girl goes with him. I wonder what her name was, and whose whipping she interfered with.  
  
"Now what was that all about?" Effie asks. "She has the strangest way with Avoxes."  
  
"We're not used to them in Twelve," Peeta says quietly. "It's not our custom."  
  
"Oh, of course. I suppose it takes time to get used to a new place, and you haven't had much time here." Effie goes off to start getting ready for supper.  
  
I look at Peeta, who is staring after the Avoxes. He turns around to face me. "I never want to get used to this place," he says.  
  
"I know," I tell him.  
  
"But I would have, wouldn't I? If it weren't for this Quell. I'd come every year, and there they'd be. Slaves. And I'd just know what to say. I wouldn't even have to think about it."  
  
I shake my head. "You always know what to say, Peeta. That doesn't mean you believe it."  
  
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lets it out in a sigh, then opens his eyes and says, "I want to get this makeup off."  
  
He goes.  
  
I sit down alone until Darius brings me a pitcher of ice water. The ice cube in the middle is shaped like the mockingjay pin.  
  
I look up.  
  
He gives me a solemn nod.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch meets resistance when he asks Katniss and Peeta to make allies during training, and spends time with allies of his own.

**Chapter Sixteen**  
Dinner is awkward, to say the least. Katniss is staring at Darius like he's a hallucination that will disappear if she concentrates hard enough. Effie corrects her for it, especially when she tries to help him clean up a spill (surely a pretext for some kind of forbidden contact). She goes to bed, and, though I see Peeta knocking on her door, she sleeps alone, and so does he.  
  
I am not surprised to find him up early the next morning, picking at breakfast and looking tired. I sit down by him, and my bracelet clanks on the table.   
  
"One of you going to tell me what happened?" I ask, pouring a little champagne into some orange juice. Or maybe pouring a little orange juice into some champagne. Peeta ignores this. I think he's resigned himself to my drinking now and then.  
  
"Finnick teased her. Then Chaff kissed her. Then Johanna stripped in the elevator." He blushes. "She was pretty much down to her shoes."  
  
"That's Johanna."  
  
He gives me a sheepish kind of shrug. "I laughed. It was funny, how shocked Katniss was. I _like_ that she's like that. It's just Katniss. It's funny. But you know... maybe I shouldn't have laughed. Johanna was kind of mean to her, and Finnick really did push it. Katniss was already mad before we saw Darius." He looks around wildly, then shakes his head. "I guess it doesn't matter if they hear. Obviously, someone knows we know him."  
  
I nod. "Caution's still not a bad idea."  
  
"I guess." He picks at his eggs. "I had nightmares. I thought they grabbed her and made her into an Avox, too. And I reached out and she wasn't there, which was how the whole nightmare started, and... well, I didn't sleep much."  
  
It occurs to me that Katniss has no idea that Peeta actually needs her. I think she believes he goes to her to comfort her.  
  
Which is something I don't have the slightest desire to get into with either one of them. "What do you think of your fellow tributes?" I ask. "Finnick and Johanna and Chaff made you laugh, anyway."  
  
"How does that matter?"  
  
"You need allies."  
  
"Katniss won't take them. And I don't want them. Last year..." He shakes his head. "It was weird. It was like having friends, except that we all knew the plan was to end up killing each other. That's sick."  
  
"No argument."  
  
He's quiet for a minute, then he says, "Dad told me that they're your friends. The other victors."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"But it's not true that you and Johanna…?"  
  
"No. Ask her about it. She'll give you theories about my secret trysts in District Seven the year before she was born."  
  
He laughs. "Got it."  
  
"Which also isn't true, for the record."  
  
"Depends on what you mean by 'true.'"  
  
"Somehow, I'm not surprised that you have a creative relationship with that word."  
  
He grins. "I don't know what you mean."  
  
I put some eggs on my plate, and pile on some bacon. "So, if it helps you to think of them as my friends, will you try talking to them?"  
  
He doesn't even think about it before saying, "No."  
  
I sigh. I expected to have to fight with Katniss over this, but I figured Peeta would be a pushover. Unlike Katniss, he actually likes people. I rub my head. "Peeta, you don't stand a chance if you don't have allies. And neither does she, since I'm guessing that matters more to you."  
  
"We're both pretty strong, and she knows survival. I can take on whatever gets thrown at me."  
  
"And let's say you do both make it to the end. Then what?"  
  
"It's easier for me to cut my throat than for her to shoot herself."  
  
"Oh, well, as long as your strategy is so impeccable..."  
  
"Why do you want us to have allies? Won't that just end up getting your friends killed at the end?"  
  
_Not if I can help it,_ I think, but don't say. "Peeta, think about it. Team up with stronger players that you get along with. Try to stay alive as long as you can. Where's the downside?"  
  
"The downside's if it comes to killing them," he says. "If I'd gotten to the end with the Careers, they'd have killed me fast, because I liked them all -- sort of -- and didn't want them dead."  
  
"You know they'd have killed you without thinking twice and you liked them too much to... " I roll my eyes. "I'm not even going to try and make that make sense. But you're stronger with allies. You know that. You watched all the Games. Finnick's the only one who won without allies in the arena, and that's because his allies were his sponsors." I look at my watch. It's nine o'clock. "Where's Katniss?"  
  
He shrugs. "Sleeping, probably."  
  
"She better get down here soon. You're due at training at ten."  
  
We eat together for a while, and I manage to get him to entertain the idea of alliances, and possibly even help me convince Katniss, though he's not in a hurry to say anything else to get on her bad side. He won't commit to anything without her. She still isn't down at nine-thirty, and I go up and pound on her door. She tells me she'll be right down, but manages to dawdle for another five minutes.  
  
Plutarch is trying to run a revolution. I am trying to deal with a teenage girl having a mood.  
  
I remind myself that she has no idea what's going on and neither does Peeta, and now that we're here and being watched, it's too late to change my mind about that. But I guess it's still in my voice when I tell her she's late, because she looks like I've just gutted her when she says she's been having nightmares about severed tongues.  
  
She is not excited at the prospect of alliances. She claims not to trust any of the other tributes except Peeta. She outright hates Finnick, which is a _big_ problem, seeing that he's one of the few who'll be in the arena who knows everything. Unfortunately, Johanna and Chaff are the other two, and apparently, they've already managed to get permanent bad marks on their records. I'm frustrated with Katniss, and with them. They should have waited for me to introduce them. She'd have trusted them if they'd just waited. If I can't get her to come around, I'll have to do something desperate.  
  
Effie comes in at five minutes to ten, looking excited. "Oh, it's training! I'll get you down there right on time!"  
  
"Effie, come on," I say. "None of the others have chaperones. Let's not saddle them with that."  
  
She looks wounded. "But I'm their escort!"  
  
"And you're really good at it," Peeta says. "I'd never find my way around here without you. But, you know, Haymitch is right about the Games. It's better if they don't treat us like kids."  
  
"Oh. Of course." She arranges a few of his curls to her liking, tightens Katniss's braid, and insists on walking them to the elevators.  
  
I wait for her to come back. "Sorry, Effie," I say. "They've got some disadvantages going in here."  
  
"Oh, I know," she says, and sits down on the couch. "I just want to spend some time with them. Before..." She sniffs and takes a long, shaky breath, then forces her cheerful face back on, which makes me immediately suspicious. "Now, while they're training, there's Quell business to attend to. If you weren't mentoring, I'm sure they'd have you go to your arena to walk us through it -- "  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's a very popular destination. It's so lovely, and they've taken out the poison things and the mutts." She sighs. "I suppose you wouldn't want to go, anyway."  
  
"Not in the least," I say, and I know I'll have nightmares tonight that they mean to drag me in there, anyway. A little accident, maybe, a drunken fall off the edge of my cliff. "You haven't been going there, have you?"  
  
"No." She frowns a little bit. "I only visited one arena. I didn't like it. It's different when you know the children." She looks around suddenly. "I mean, I… I spend so much of the year on the Games. I like to do other things." She smiles nervously. I wonder if she's saying that because she thinks it would upset me, or if she let the truth slip and is afraid that someone might take her at her word on it. She pushes herself back onto the subject. "As it is -- you being busy mentoring -- Caesar just wants to go over your Games with you at the studio, with footage."  
  
"Live?"  
  
"No. I think he just wants to get the details straight and get some voiceovers for a special re-airing of the highlights. He'll interview you tomorrow about what you've done with your life since the Games." She bites her lip. "What, uh... what are you going to tell him?"  
  
"Do you want me to cover up our passionate affair?"  
  
"Caesar knows all about our passionate affair." She rolls her eyes extravagantly. "I think he'd just like to know where to take it. You're not mentoring yourself, so _you_ can't talk to him about the interview beforehand. I'll be doing that. You didn't give me much to work with on the phone. What _have_ you been doing lately?"  
  
"Drinking a lot and groping visiting escorts." She looks like she's about to have steam come out of her ears, so I relent a little. "Come on, Effie. You know what my life is like. I mentor once a year. I help out where I can these days, but they're not going to let me talk about that. I annoy Katniss and Peeta. And my house is finally clean. Is anyone going to be interested in that?"  
  
"They might be interested in why your house is clean. The lovely lady...?"  
  
I shake my head. "Hazelle's off the table, Effie."  
  
"But she… well, the two of you…" She bites her lip. "Haymitch, are you… I mean, it's all right if you are. I've certainly…Well, it's not like I'd have anything to say about it."  
  
I don't answer her, which I guess is an answer, because she drops the subject. I've never pressed about the lovers she's had over the years. I guess she doesn't want to know about Hazelle any more than I've wanted to know about them.  
  
She gives me an awkward little smile and hands me my schedule for the day. I roll my eyes at her, and she runs her fingers fondly over mine before letting go of the schedule.  
  
I guess she's off her pills, though she hasn't mentioned it. She doesn't have that manic look in her eyes, anyway.  
  
There's no time to talk about it. The schedule has me headed out to Caesar's right away. She's not coming with me. She's got an interview with _Games Gab_ and a meeting with a theater producer. We go downstairs together. She catches a Games car to go across town, and I walk across to the media building.  
  
I don't need prepping for Caesar, since we're working off camera. He's not prepped, either, though it's hard to tell, since his hair and eyebrows are dyed lavender and he's had so much work done on his face that I have no idea how old he really is. He'd already been hosting my whole life the first time I met him.  
  
At the moment, he's wearing dungarees, an old shirt, and a pair of beaten-up sneakers. Cosmetic work aside, he could pass for a District worker on a ten minute break. He greets me with a clap on the shoulder and leads me downstairs. We will be inhabiting a dingy little production room in the studio basement today. It's dark except for the flickering screens (currently showing the crowded stage from the interviews), and Caesar has put out sandwiches and snacks on a small table.  
  
"I was just watching our interview," he says pointing at one of the screens, which he's paused on a shot of me looking like a smart-ass, which was my default expression back then. Caesar doesn't hold it against me. He starts it running again, silently. "You really got the crowd that night. 'A hundred percent as stupid as usual.'" He laughs. "It wasn't true, you know. They weren't stupid. You've just always been too smart for your own good."  
  
I take the chair next to him, moving aside some food wrappers. "What do you need?"  
  
"Just some voiceovers," he says. "You know it's going to come to Maysilee." He looks over. "I remember she was wearing a pin the night of her interview. They took it away before she went into the arena."  
  
I smile. "I should've realized that if anyone was going to remember, it'd be you."  
  
"I recognized it right away last year. Did you give it to her?"  
  
"No. She's friends with Maysilee's niece. I wasn't actually expecting to see it, either."  
  
"Should we remind people?" he asks, edging the video backward to Maysilee's interview, where the mockingjay pin is visible, if indistinct in the glaring lights. He pauses it.  
  
"I haven't told Katniss," I tell him. "And, honestly, I don't want them to take it away from her."  
  
"A valid point." He looks at another screen, where the parade images are flickering along.   
  
I see myself hanging off the edge of the chariot. Gilla is across from me. In the middle, Beech is trying to hide behind anything he can. Maysilee isn't bothering. They've turned her into a tart, and there's no angle she could hide at.   
  
"Why haven't you told her?" Caesar asks.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Why haven't you told Katniss about the pin?"  
  
"It just hasn't come up. I don't talk much about Maysilee." I shrug. "She probably understands pretty well. I caught the two of them watching the damned Quell tape on the way out here."  
  
Caesar shakes his head. "That tape," he mutters. "Snow was looking over people's shoulders the whole time. Making sure none of your 'misbehavior' came through. I can't see how anyone who wasn't watching live could understand _anything_."  
  
"Katniss understands me pretty well."  
  
"Yeah, I guess she does." He starts the interviews up again. "Let's see if we can get some other people to understand. I have all the old footage. Snow'll never let me run scenes of you blocking up the mutt delivery systems, but maybe we could get you and Maysilee talking philosophy. Or you telling that story."  
  
I shudder. "Not that. Snow…" I close my eyes. I told Maysilee the story about the three pigs. Snow used it as a framework to kill my family. _I'll huff and I'll puff…_ I shudder and open my eyes again. "I don't want to hear it. You want a storyteller, you should find the first Quell winner. I saw that tape in the library before my Quell -- I didn't watch deliberately, but it was running in the library while I was trying to work. That guy could tell a story."  
  
"Charlie?" Caesar gives me a strange little smile. "He won a few years before I got this gig."  
  
"It's hard to believe you weren't always here."  
  
He laughs. "I'm sure it was hard for everyone else to believe that anyone could replace Candria Light when I took over. She'd been doing it for thirty-one years. She actually could name them all."  
  
"Why do you do it?" I ask. "You're the face of something you hate."  
  
He pauses the video on a shot of Maysilee blinking nervously. "She was talking about her parents' sweet shop," he says. "Got herself all tangled up. Remember?"  
  
"Yeah. You got her untangled."  
  
He nods. "That's why I do it. To help them get untangled, if they need help. To get stories from them that count. That, maybe, people will remember later. I always hate it when mentors tell me to ask them about their strategy so they can intimidate the others. The audience doesn't remember that. Do you remember a word Clove said last year? But they remember Peeta talking about showers -- he made them laugh, then he made them love him _and_ Katniss. If Katniss hadn't forced Seneca's hand when she did, if she'd just put down her bow and refused to kill Peeta or let him kill himself, the public would have forced Crane to let them both live, anyway."   
  
"They didn't have that long. Peeta's heart stopped less than five minutes after they got him on board the hovercraft. There wasn't time for the Capitol to force them to do anything."  
  
"I suppose that's true," Caesar says. "But the point remains: Snow's original idea, that the audience would find it very entertaining to watch them kill each other after everything they went through together, never would have flown. Peeta'd created a narrative that made it impossible for them to accept that. I helped him do it. So did you."  
  
I give a noncommittal grunt and watch forty-seven dead kids make silent small talk. I don't like Plutarch's plans, but at least he _has_ them.  
  
"These are the last Games, Haymitch," Caesar says. "One way or another. Can't you feel it?"  
  
I look at him to see if he is joking or if he looks suspicious. Neither seems to be the case. I don't dare agree or disagree, so I say, "What do you want me to talk about?"  
  
He guides me through my Games, stopping at various points to ask what was going through my head. I realize that most of the questions are about the other tributes.  
  
Narrative.  
  
For memory.  
  
I answer his questions as well as I can.  
  
This business takes through lunch, which we eat together while going through footage. He doesn't bring up the three pigs story, but he does show things I never saw from the filler material. Mom and Lacklen acting like I was a shoo-in. I've thought over the years of how sick Mom was, but I've edited it in my head, just given her the cough I can't forget and sunken eyes. I've forgotten, somehow, that she looked like a walking skeleton that year, bound together by her weathered skin. I forgot that Lacklen was _tiny_ , that, before he got the glasses Caesar sent him, he was perpetually squinting into the distance.  
  
Kay Donner comes on, talking up Maysilee _and_ me. Danny Mellark goes on about me being smart and creative.  
  
And Digger. I ask Caesar to pause the shot of her for a long time. I've nearly forgotten her face over the years, and the only place I could have seen it was the place I haven't been looking -- the Games records. The Gamemakers have had my memory. I re-make it for myself, taking in her black hair, which she kept at shoulder length, curled under at the bottom. She tied it back with a piece of packing string that someone had painted for her. Her thin face. The incredibly pale gray eyes that almost seemed to glow sometimes. I listen to her talk. I'd forgotten her voice entirely. It wasn't a soft, romantic sound. She had a way of being forceful without sounding brash. She also tended to get an irritated tone whenever she was frustrated.  
  
I've almost been conflating her with Katniss, I realize. I've been remembering her hair longer, even braided. I've remembered her more solemn than she was, and physically tougher (which is saying something, as Katniss is no one's idea of a bruiser).  
  
I stare at her now and remember her as a real girl, who I once loved more than anything in the world. She deserves at least this much.  
  
Finally, I tell Caesar that I'm ready to move on.  
  
A small screen at the top of the stack shows the training room, where Katniss and Peeta are eating at a large table with the others. Peeta has thrown himself into making friends (which I expected he would once he met them), and Katniss doesn't seem to be overtly hostile. I can't hear anything, but Chaff seems to be joking with them. Caesar says that they seem to be doing fine.  
  
We finish up around three in the afternoon. A few of the tributes are not bothering with training, and I have a drink or two with Blight in the lounge in the training center (not that I can actually feel the booze, with the detoxers Valentine gave me). Most of the tributes are too scared to know it's there in a normal year, but Blight's been mentoring long enough to know his way around. He says there's no point in training; he's not in shape and couldn't even beat his district partner, not that he plans to try. "So, since I'm going to die anyway, I think I'll enjoy life for a few days instead." I consider this a fine line of reasoning.  
  
"Why'd you offer to volunteer for Jack?"  
  
He shrugs and stares at his drink. "Jack's got a life. Someone he loves. My last chance at that disappeared down the Mississippi a quarter of a century ago."  
  
I think about Gia Pepper, my first escort. She was transferred to Twelve from Seven because she and Blight had gotten a little too close for the Capitol's comfort. Then, when she worked for Twelve, she became a rebel. Snow knew it. Blight got wind of it. We got her out right under the noses of the guards on the Victory Tour train. She let me kiss her goodbye. She was already moving on from both of us, I think. I only heard from her once more, a carefully coded message that she was safe, married, and expecting a child.  
  
Blight and I can't discuss it, of course. If there's anyone among the victors who knows where she is, it's Blight; he arranged for a man from District Four to meet us and take her into hiding. But I can't ask him about it, or tell him about anything I heard from her. There's too much chance of someone overhearing.  
  
Instead, we just pass a few meaningless words and watch television in the bar for about half an hour. _Games Gab_ has started airing a television show along with its magazine, and Effie's segment leads it. She gushes about Katniss and Peeta, and even under the hyperbolic enthusiasm of her Capitol Dreams training, I can see her genuine love for them. I watch her in silence, then get up.  
  
Blight catches me by the shoulder. "You're an idiot," he says, looking up at the television, though Effie has disappeared in favor of an interview with the chariot stable-keepers.  
  
"Not exactly front page news," I say, and leave.  
  
Effie comes back to the apartment around six and checks to see if I'm drunk -- a habit she's had too long to break, no matter how many detoxers she knows are in my system -- then grabs my arm and says, "Haymitch, you need to see this!"  
  
"More sponsors?" I ask.  
  
"Even better. Look!" She reaches into her purse and pulls out a handful of paper forms.  
  
"Alliance requests?"  
  
"From District Four, and Johanna and Cecelia and Faraday Sykes. And Earl Bates, and... oh, Haymitch, half the tributes going in want to partner with Katniss! Even Districts One and Two have asked for her!"  
  
"And Peeta?"  
  
"Well, of course he goes with her. She's not going to leave him behind. That's already been stipulated."  
  
We reach the training center and go inside. Katniss and Peeta are both relaxing in the apartment, waiting for dinner. Peeta says that she's a star because everyone saw her shoot. "I'm about to put in a formal request myself."  
  
"You're that good?" I ask. "So good that Brutus wants you?"  
  
"But I don't want Brutus," Katniss says, then raises herself up in my estimation by many degrees by saying, "I want Mags and District Three."  
  
"Of course you do," I say. I do my best not to convey any delight at this, as I can't think of a quicker way to make her mistrust her instincts than having me confirm them. Now, I just need her to take to Finnick and Johanna. Seeder will make sure she and Chaff get into that group. "I'll tell everybody you're still making up your mind."  
  
We have dinner together, and Peeta gives a recap of Katniss's shooting exhibition so lively that I feel like I was there. For the first time in ages, she seems to be entirely pleased by his admiration. She tells me how good he was at getting the other tributes to eat with them, and how he made it easy for even her to get along with them. They are both flushed and wide-eyed, and Effie insists that we all stay downstairs together and watch something insipid on television. By the time it's over, Katniss is drowsy and Peeta has to be woken up to go to his room.  
  
Chaff skips training the next day and we go outside. I have to sign him out as a mentor and promise not to let him out of my sight, since he's technically in custody of the state. We play chess in the park with a few old men until we start being recognized by kids coming home from school. I am pressed for autographs, and begged to give good wishes to Katniss and Peeta. Chaff is given good wishes for himself.  
  
A few girls hand me kisses that I'm supposed to pass on to Peeta. I tell them that I'd prefer not to get an arrow in the head, which makes them laugh. Two of them have fake braids clipped to their hair, and all of them are wearing mockingjays. A few little kids on the playground are playing at the Games, which annoys me, but one of them has buried himself in the sandbox and is waiting to be rescued by the girl he's playing with. I watch this for a while, thinking about what Caesar said about the Capitol audience not forgetting the story. Unlike the others, those playing at being Katniss and Peeta seem intent on rescuing one another as the highest level of Game play.  
  
Around two, I go to Caesar's studio for prep, and talk him into letting Chaff come on with me. We do a puff piece about my life in District Twelve, most of which focuses on the kids, since the rest of my life is not really fit for public consumption. He asks -- probably out of habit -- if there's anyone special in my life, and I consider giving a carefully veiled hello to Hazelle, but if I did that, half of District Twelve would start speculating on who I was talking about, and a good number of them would pick the wrong person. Besides, I'm not even sure there's anything there, for real.   
  
I tell him, as always, that I'm saving myself for Effie, and the joke, as always, gets a laugh. "Sad part is," Chaff says, "I think it's true."  
  
I make an obscene gesture at him that Caesar says he'll have to cut out.  
  
Chaff goes through the Quell from his point of view as a mentor, trying to find sponsors for so many kids. "Even the favorites didn't have much to work with that year," he says. "And District Twelve barely had anything at all."  
  
"Was there anything?" I ask. "Before that cold pack and the painkillers at the end, anyway."  
  
"Well, Maysilee got some crackers before she ran into you."  
  
"I'll try to contain my jealousy."  
  
He laughs. "Well, you didn't seem to need much. Believe it or not, Drake was looking for something for you. You weren't giving him any clues. After I lost my tributes, I kept an eye on you."  
  
"Yes," Caesar says. "It was you and Seeder who were there with Haymitch in recovery, wasn't it?"  
  
"It sure was. Seeder thought he'd need someone a little friendlier than Albinus Drake. And we both liked him, no matter how unlikeable he tried to be."  
  
"I am unlikeable," I growl.  
  
"Yup, you're a pill, that's for sure. Don't know what we were thinking." He grins.  
  
After the interview, Caesar airs scenes from the Quell, with the commentary I did yesterday. Reporters are in the street waiting to get reactions from Capitol citizens. Most are dazed, many expressing in various ways that they'd forgotten how many of us there were. Kay Undersee is interviewed back in Twelve, and kindly interprets my crazy behavior toward her when I got home as a gallant remembrance of her sister. A photo is shown of the two of them and their best friends, then Caesar pretends to be surprised to see Ruth Everdeen in it. He freezes on the photo and says, "And here we see it -- the ongoing legacy of the Games in District Twelve." Maysilee is faded out, and Ruth's face morphs into Katniss's (I'm actually surprised to see that it's an easy morph; I always thought of her as looking like Glen). It cuts to her live in the training center, where Peeta, Berenice, and Paulin are painting her into a field of wildflowers. As we watch, she also disappears.  
  
It's a nearly perfect cut, and one of the people on the street, now appearing for an interview, is too choked up to tell the reporter why he thinks Quells are such special events.  
  
After the show, I go back to the training center for dinner with my weird approximation of a family, then head out to find Finnick, who is making no progress at all with Katniss. Johanna is with him in the lounge, and isn't even trying to make progress. "You set it up," she says. "I’m not going to play kiss-kiss with a soppy teenager. You're the one who wants us to be allies. You make it happen."  
  
"I'm not the one who put in a formal request," I remind her.  
  
"Well... she can shoot. I wouldn't _mind_ being her ally. As long as I don't have to be her friend."  
  
"I want to be her friend," Finnick says. "I like her. I like Peeta, too. It's amazing how much time they managed to spend with Haymitch without becoming nearly as insufferable."  
  
This could turn into a serious conversation, but Finnick is still high on the idea of a few days to himself, and he grabs Johanna and swings her into a dance.   
  
I get reports back from other mentors that the kids are doing well in training, getting along as well as possible with everyone else (Johanna excepted). I ride in an elevator with Gloss and he compliments Katniss on her composure, of all things. Brutus demands that I confirm an alliance, and at that point I feel comfortable telling him that Katniss would rather swallow mutated worms than ally with him.   
  
He frowns deeply, then mutters, "At least I won't have to deal with Princess Peeta. I wasn't looking forward to babysitting His Sensitive Majesty, anyway." He walks away.  
  
Enobaria makes a point of telling me that she finds it hilarious that Brutus is throwing a temper tantrum about this, but she's withdrawing her request for an alliance as well.  
  
On the day of individual evaluations, I assume Katniss will shoot at targets. They'll certainly provide her with some. Peeta knows to show them all his strength, and maybe do some camouflage. They don't need coaching the second time around. I hear the others muttering about what they'll show the Gamemakers that they haven't already seen. Some tributes, including Beetee and Wiress, go straight back to their quarters after evaluations. Others drift to the lounge, where the rest of us are waiting. We can see the dining hall emptying out as the tributes go in.  
  
Finnick doesn't tell me what he did when he comes out after his, and when Mags comes out next, looking rested, he translates what she says as, "I took a nap."   
  
"What'd you do?" Finnick asks Johanna as she comes out.  
  
"I thought I'd tap dance, but they didn't have the shoes for it, so I threw some axes instead." She throws herself down on a sofa. Jack Anderson wags his finger at her playfully and tells her that she shouldn't talk about her talents, and she makes a great show of obedient bowing to his vast wisdom.  
  
Cecelia made a strong garrote out of plant material, and Chaff says he sat and stared at them for fifteen minutes to prove he could intimidate anyone. "They were shaking by the end, I promise." Seeder says that she built a shelter, because she couldn't think of anything else.  
  
"So Peeta's in there now?" I ask.  
  
"Should be."  
  
I wait to either have him show up in the lounge or to see the elevator go up, but after twenty minutes, neither thing has happened. Finally, the elevator goes up past us. I look to the screen, expecting to see Katniss go in. Instead, she wanders around the dining room by herself for what seems like forever.  
  
"I'm intrigued," Seeder says. "What does he know how to do that takes that long to clean up?"  
  
I am suddenly pulled back to the car full of paintings of the Games, to Peeta with his paint-stained hands bringing me bread, to the light in his studio at all hours.  
  
And I have a sinking feeling that maybe I should have mentored my tributes this morning after all.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch spends the day off before the interviews meeting with people who want to sponsor Katniss and Peeta.

**Chapter Seventeen**  
The elevator goes up in a reasonable time after Katniss enters the evaluation, and I let myself think for maybe a minute that everything is all right. Peeta's no hotheaded zealot, so maybe whatever he did was just messy. Katniss _is_ a zealot (though nowhere near as hotheaded as she thinks she is), but whatever she did took a normal amount of time, and there are no Peacekeepers storming through the lounge door to take me away.  
  
But before I can convince myself of this scenario -- and that would be a long shot, anyway -- the door from the stairs opens, and Plutarch glares at me. I start over toward him to see what he wants, but he just shakes his head, slams the door, and leaves.  
  
"Someone's in trouble," Cecelia says, leaning over my shoulder with a grin. "I do that when I'm so angry I don't dare go near my kids." She looks at me in an evaluative way and says, "Maybe you shouldn't go near yours, either. You don't look much calmer than Heavensbee."  
  
"I'm fine," I grumble. I go to the elevator and go upstairs. I try to keep my temper under control when I ask them what they did. I mostly manage it by remembering that I'm the one who didn't tell them they were in a minefield and needed to watch their steps. Of course, they probably should have figured that out on their own.  
  
It turns out that Peeta decided to smack them over the head with a moral lesson about what they did to Rue McKissack, by painting a portrait of her surrounded by white flowers -- the ones that no one is supposed to know about -- on the floor of the Training Center. To hold them accountable, apparently. Bully for accountability.   
  
Effie nearly hyperventilates at the thought that he's been thinking forbidden thoughts, and I'm distracted for a moment by a burning, white hot hatred for Capitol Dreams.  
  
I don't have much time to spare for it, though. I'm too busy trying not to blow up at Peeta. He may not be a zealot, but self-righteous moral philosophers aren't much more welcome in Snow's Capitol, and all he's going to do is put Snow's back up about all of us.  
  
Of course, Katniss must have realized that he did something crazy, because she decided to top it.  
  
By hanging an effigy of Seneca Crane.  
  
Great. The leader of the rebellion -- at least as the Capitol politicians see it -- just threatened to execute the Gamemakers. That'll be helpful. Nothing to see here.  
  
Peeta caps the whole conversation off by saying, "And Haymitch? We decided we don't want any other allies in the arena."  
  
For a moment that I guess I'll spend the rest of the Games regretting -- at the moment I don't care -- I am perfectly content to tell everyone to let Katniss and Peeta do whatever the hell they want, damn the consequences. "Good," I say. "Then I won't be responsible for you killing off any of my friends with your stupidity."  
  
"That's just what we were thinking," Katniss says, and I realize that she means it, which breaks my anger. To Katniss, it's about not being forced to kill my friends.  
  
The only problem is that, if they don't make the alliances, more people are going to die. If they're out there on their own, waiting out the Games and trying not to kill any of my friends, my friends are going to die trying to stop the Careers from hunting them down.  
  
I sigh and sit down with them to wait for the scores.  
  
Claudius Templesmith paints a bright target on them by awarding them perfect twelves on their evaluations. There's no way that was about the skills demonstrated. Neither painting nor noose-tying is a serious threat to anyone in the arena. The scores are nothing more than waving a red flag in front of Brutus and the rest of the Career pack. I hope Gloss has enough sense to talk him down.  
  
I send the kids to bed. They don't even bother pretending to go to separate rooms. Whatever. At this late date in the Games, Peeta's not capable of any more mischief than finger-painting her or something. Even Effie doesn't make a scene about it.  
  
We sit around in silence -- Cinna, Portia, Effie, and me. We all know what just happened.   
  
"You're not really going to let them go in without allies?" Effie asks. "Everyone wants them, and if they turn people away… they'll be…"  
  
"Targets?" I say. "Yeah. I know. I'll fix it."  
  
I sigh. With the flare of my temper fading, I sympathize with them completely. I think we've all wanted to shove the Gamemakers' faces in what they do, and Katniss and Peeta think they're on their way to die, and they won't have another chance. I'd apologize, but I doubt they'd appreciate me interrupting the finger-painting just now.  
  
She is still nervous from hearing Peeta's "forbidden thoughts." She gets up and paces around the living room, stopping at the window. "They're going to get themselves in so much trouble," she says. "Haymitch, they need to apologize to the Gamemakers. They can't… " Her eyelids flutter rapidly and she cups her elbows with her hands. "It's forbidden," she says again.  
  
"How do they forbid you to think a thought?" Portia asks.  
  
Effie looks puzzled. "What do you mean?"  
  
"How do they forbid you to think something?"  
  
"Well, they just... it's... it's forbidden."  
  
"I never had to do anything myself," Cinna says. "But I remember once no one was allowed to talk to a boy who said we should have elections for a new president."  
  
"Yes," Effie says, nodding. "Of course. When I was nine, I had to..." She giggles oddly. "Actually, Haymitch, it was your Quell. I said that it was mean that your friend died. I had to write out how many people died in the Dark Days, a thousand times on a blackboard in the playground, during recess. The other kids said I must like wars and want a lot of people to die. And they checked on my parents to make sure they weren't teaching me things like that." She bites her lip. "That's why they wanted me to work for Capitol Dreams. Do you remember that I was working as a runner the first time we met? He gave me an autograph on his Victory Tour," she tells Cinna.  
  
"To the girl carrying everything," I say. "Which she still does."  
  
She smiles at me warmly, then goes on with her story. "Anyway, when I was there, they taught me that… well, it's okay to know the Games are horrible sometimes. But it's much better than having a war. I had to do a report on the bombing of the Green Tower for school, and give it in front of the whole class."  
  
I try to imagine little Effie Trinket, her hair in girly ringlets. She is standing in a playground while the Quell plays above her, writing on a blackboard over and over while I search through the woods for Filigree, planning to do murder. The other kids are making fun of her. The Peacekeepers descend on her home, and pack her off to listen to endless tirades at Capitol Dreams. Then, at some point after that, she has to stand up in front of everyone who'd been ridiculing her and recite the "right" way of thinking. All because she said it was "mean" that Maysilee Donner was murdered.   
  
"Thanks," I say.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Never mind. Just, thanks." I lean over and kiss her cheek. It may be the first time I've done that since they dragged her back to Capitol Dreams five years ago; I'm not sure.  
  
She looks stunned. "Well, thank you for the kiss. But it's not going to get you out of meetings tomorrow." She shakes her finger at me playfully. "I have five sponsor meetings lined up for you. I'll take care of coaching Katniss and Peeta for their interview. I guess they'll be in prep all day the next day."  
  
I wave it off. "Give them the day, Effie. They know how to walk in fancy clothes, and they already own the audience. Let them have a breather."  
  
"I guess they've earned it," she says, then gets up, gathers her things, and leaves.  
  
I talk to Portia and Cinna for a little while after she goes, mostly to distract myself from the almost certainly frustrating thought that Effie made it back from Capitol Dreams programming once, and she could do it again. Maybe it's true -- but it won't be before I'm long gone.  
  
Cinna says that Snow has demanded that Katniss wear the winning wedding dress, but that he plans to make it more memorable than anyone anticipates. He won't tell me what he means.  
  
"He won't even tell _me,_ " Portia says, annoyed.  
  
"This one's on my head. Even Katniss won't know."  
  
I don't find this reassuring.  
  
They leave. I go to the bar, but Darius is locking up the liquor. He waggles his fingers around his head to indicate Effie's wig, then touches his mouth. Effie's orders. Which are ultimately my own orders, I guess.  
  
Darius and Lavinia start cleaning up around the apartment. I wonder if either of them was ritually humiliated to spur right-thinking. If so, it apparently didn't take.  
  
I dream about little Effie that night, with cramped and chalk-stained fingers, wandering through the arena and trying to find Maysilee.  
  
In the morning, the real Effie shows up early, chirping that it's time to get ready for my first meeting. Today will be making deals, cutting agreements. They still can't give me money, but I'll have solid figures promised by the end of the day.  
  
The breakfast meeting is with an old woman in the fashion district who is showing far too much interest in Peeta. Effie wasn't able to vet her, because she doesn’t have any real history with the Games. When I try to extract myself from the meeting, she asks _me_ to stay with her for the day. She puts her hand on my back. I manage not to pick up a knife, though I can't quite get through a polite smile when I tell her that I'm terribly sorry, but Effie has me booked.  
  
After that, there is a nice couple named Nova and Virgil Tannen, who I meet in a hotel conference room. They fell in love during last year's games, and want to give all of their monetary wedding presents to Katniss and Peeta, and beg me to work whatever magic I can to let them both live happily ever after. I tell them that I doubt another exception will be made, and Nova starts weeping. Virgil makes me promise to try.  
  
I stay in the conference room for the next two meetings. One is with a serious gambler who's worked the odds and decided to put his money on Katniss. The other is with the popular boy singer who came to the victory celebration in Twelve last year and was excited to get Prim's autograph, of all things. He tells me to just let him know whatever I need. "I mean it, man. Whatever it takes to get them out of there. District Twelve can count on me. Everyone was nice to me there. Just tell me where to sign." He performs under the name Julian Day -- and apparently wrote a musical about last year's Games under that name -- but he signs the sponsor contract as Stephen Bregmen. When I ask, he shrugs and says, "My great-grandparents were from the districts, my friend. My parents won't say which, even if they did give me a district name. But Julian Day gets places that Stephen Bregman can't, you know? I guess they're both legal enough."  
  
He shoves a pair of shades onto his face and slouches out. He's still mobbed in the hotel lobby when I leave for my next meeting ten minutes later.  
  
This one is in a part of town I've never been, even during the days Drake and I wandered the Capitol ceaselessly, searching for new clubs. It's a residential area on the far side of the train station, nowhere that we'd have had cause to look.   
  
No one in the Capitol is poor in a sense that District Twelve would recognize, but in Capitol terms, this is the Seam. People wear cheap imitations of Effie's fashions, live crowded into small apartments, and have to settle for second-hand technology. A lot of them are deep in debt (the Capitol actively encourages people to spend on credit, then cracks down hard if they fall behind), and I'd guess this is where a lot of the Peacekeepers who actually hail from the Capitol came from. The buildings look like Capitol buildings in the same way the clothes look like Capitol fashion -- cheap knock-offs.  
  
There is a street fair going on. I check the address Effie gave me. It's smack in the middle of the block where booths line the street, and people are playing their own Games. At the corner, there's an archery game, where cushion-ended arrows are being shot with abandon at red bottles. A girl who has just missed a shot spots me and points, then giggles to her friend. I've seen the Capitol playing at the Games before. It's always questionable. I wonder why I'm here.  
  
I enter the carnival.  
  
My first thought, that this was some cheap aping of the Hunger Games themselves, isn't right. There aren't any general exhibits. It's all about District Twelve, and Katniss and Peeta.   
  
Aside from the archery station, there's a "Paint Yourself Like Peeta" booth, where kids and adults are trying to camouflage themselves. There's a music booth, where District Twelve music is playing. There's a girl selling doll clothes that look like Katniss's dresses (I buy some, thinking Cinna will get a kick out of them, especially the ones with fake flames made from glitter), and someone has made Peeta's paintings into postcards. Blond "Prim" wigs made from yarn are a big seller, and there's a pamphlet containing all of the information on herbs that Ruth gave during the games. There's even a booth with a handmade sign that says "Mellarks' Bakery," where they're selling fresh District Twelve bread. Mockingjays are everywhere.   
  
"Mr. Abernathy?"  
  
I turn. A teenage boy with bleached curls is standing on the steps of one of the apartment buildings. I check, and it's the address I'm supposed to go to. "What's all this?" I ask.  
  
"We're raising money to sponsor District Twelve," he says, and holds out his hand. "I'm Aurelian Benz."  
  
That is the name on Effie's list. I shake his hand and say, "Haymitch Abernathy. Quite a set-up you've got here."  
  
"I hope it's not offensive," he says. "It's just… no one has a lot of money. But we can pool what we have this way. It's all meant respectfully."  
  
"It's a little strange," I say. He looks crestfallen, so I quickly add, "But it sure is a lot of work just to help out complete strangers."  
  
Aurelian smiles brightly. "Come on," he says. "We're not exactly an official group. That's why I'm the only name. I'm the only one old enough to sign. But everyone wants to meet you." He shrugs nervously. "The little kids… well, excuse the… you'll see."  
  
He leads me through the carnival, behind the "bakery," and into an alley between two buildings. He whistles Rue's tune. A window opens, and a little redheaded girl looks out and smiles. She looks at someone behind her and says, "They're here! Haymitch Abernathy is here!"  
  
"They're excited," Aurelian says.  
  
A door pops open, and he leads me inside. This building is obviously abandoned for some reason, and, like abandoned buildings in every place since the beginning of time, it's been taken over by local children. There are ten kids here. I have no idea who they are. They've set up a round table in a corner with no windows, and put up an old lantern.   
  
"We never let the fire go out," a teenage girl tells me solemnly.  
  
The little redhead curls up beside the older girl. They look nothing alike, but then, neither do Prim and Katniss. I have no doubt that they're sisters. The little one holds up a fashion doll, beaten up and dirty. It's one of the Katniss dolls released just after the Games. Currently, it's wearing the pants and boots from the arena, and the top of the yellow dress she wore for her last interview. The skirt has been hacked off around her thighs. "Yellow's my favorite color," the girl says.  
  
"That's... nice."  
  
"My sissy got my doll," she explains, leaning into her sister's arm. "So she could watch out for me when Tazzy's at school, just like Katniss watches out for _her_ sissy."  
  
"Mr. Abernathy doesn't care about that, Solly," the sister says.  
  
"Actually," I say, "Mr. Abernathy cares a lot about that."  
  
The older girl smiles faintly.  
  
Aurelian tugs her hair and says, "This is Tacita Vole, and you met her sister, Solana."  
  
The others come over and introduce themselves before they sit down. They all want handshakes. Aurelian, at eighteen, is the oldest. Solly is the youngest, at five, but she insists on telling me that she helped Tazzy make bread to sell at the bakery booth, so she is a sponsor, too. The others have participated in other booths (currently being staffed by other neighborhood kids, for the most part), and all of them are enthusiastic fans of Katniss and Peeta. Several of them have gone to the trouble to look up my Games as well, and duly express sorrow for the loss of Maysilee. One boy actually nearly cries over her, as if it happened yesterday.  
  
Which, to him, it did. Watching something on television is pretty immediate, even if it was filmed a couple of decades ago.  
  
My main job in these meetings is usually getting as much money out of a sponsor as I can, which requires listening to their stories, but here, they barely have enough to send in a cracker on the first day. They just need to tell their stories.  
  
Aurelian was in with a bad crowd last year -- like Peeta with the Careers, as he interprets it -- and seeing that it was better to be a good person and love someone, he got on a better track, and started taking care of some of the other neighborhood kids.   
  
Tazzy and Solly's parents are in debtors' prison, and they've been begging. Tazzy doesn't say it outright, but there are only so many ways for a pretty teenage girl to make money, and I suspect that it's not school she's at when Solly needs watching. I'm guessing that she got the doll on an old fashioned five-finger discount, which I'd congratulate her for if we were acknowledging these things. She started crying when Katniss volunteered for Prim. "I just felt like I knew her! I'd do anything for Solly, too! Katniss _can't die._ "  
  
A twelve-year-old boy named Faxon once had to steal back his things from bullies (just like Katniss destroying the Careers' supplies, as far as he's concerned). A girl named Elysia learned how to climb trees, which got her away from Peacekeepers who had arrested _her_ parents for debt. (It is a common theme.) A pair of brothers named Curtis and Crispin saw Peeta's fight with Cato as an inspiration to stop picking fights for fun and start fighting to defend people. "Now everyone's out to get us," Crispin says, grinning crazily, "but it's way better."   
  
Juniper, another girl who I suspect is not spending her days in school, didn't join until this year, when the chariot went by and she saw the anger on Katniss's face. She admired it.   
  
The group is rounded out by a couple of twelve year olds who watched the Games at school last year and realized they could be Reaped if they were in the Districts. "I don't have anyone who could volunteer for me," the girl, Minerva, says. "I'd be scared to death."  
  
The boy, whose name is Nonnie -- he was the one who almost cried for Maysilee -- just grins and says, "Katniss is really pretty."  
  
After all those stories, something about that last, simple statement, strikes everyone, including me, as funny. We laugh.  
  
"Anyway," Aurelian says, "that's why we're sponsoring. Everyone in the neighborhood likes them. That's why we have the fair. But we all want to give them something, because they gave us something."  
  
I shake my head. "You kids should keep the money. Use it to... I don't know. Stop doing whatever you're doing." I frown at Tazzy and Juniper. "You need that money more than they do."  
  
"It's not about what we need," Juniper says. "It's like... when I saw her at the parade, and she was so mad, I felt like I could get mad. Like it was _okay_ to get mad. And I felt like I _could_ get out."  
  
Tazzy nods enthusiastically. "It's not about being mad for me. It's more like... I feel like I can win. Because she won."  
  
"Besides," Faxon says, "we got a permit for the carnival saying it was for sponsoring. It's illegal to keep it for ourselves until after the Games, if you don't use it."  
  
I try to argue with them -- I have everything I need -- but they insist. Finally, after two hours, I relent, and let Aurelian sign the sponsorship forms. He wants it to go toward arrows.  
  
"And bread!" Solly insists.  
  
Aurelian takes me back upstairs and out to the carnival. "They'll be okay in there," he says. "No one ever goes in there. We have food and everything."  
  
"You need to help those girls get off the street," I tell him. "That's what you should raise money for."  
  
He nods. "I know. I'm trying. But you know what? Tazzy learned to bake bread. Juniper made those postcards. They're learning how to do other things. That's good, too, isn't it?"  
  
I admit that it is, then warn him to make sure everyone keeps their heads down, thinking of Effie's school story. He laughs and tells me that they've all seen enough punishments to know what never to say.  
  
He goes back inside. I stay at the fair a while, buying bread (not as good as Peeta's, but not bad), looking at images of Maysilee and me being sold from a closed tent. The artist -- who's quite good -- has aged us up together. The boy running the booth offers to give me one, but I turn it down.   
  
"Oh," he says, looking down. "I thought…" He bites his lip. "I made them all old. All the tributes."  
  
He shows me a box of pictures. I see a middle-aged Violet Breen. Nasseh Rutledge with a receding hairline. River Boldwood with a child on his broad shoulders. Elmer Parton sitting with me in a park. Ginger McCullough leaning on her cane, her hair up in a dignified bun while she corrals a pair of teenage girls.  
  
I look up. "These could get you in a whole lot of trouble."  
  
"Why do you think the booth's closed?"  
  
"Close up further. Keep these safe. And be careful."  
  
He looks at the pictures. "This is the way it should be. I started last year during the Games. I drew Katniss and Peeta with grandchildren. And I just kept going. They're all…" He doesn't finish. He doesn't have to.  
  
I take his name, hoping I'll have a chance to slip it to Plutarch, to get him protected by whoever's left in the Capitol after the Quell. I move on, not wanting to draw attention.  
  
I look over the herbal medicine book, tell a few stories in the square, and talk to as many of the people as will come over to me. (Fame often creates shyness in people. It's a strange, one-sided relationship, and I don't think anyone really knows how to play it face to face.) I play a few of the games -- which I'm terrible at -- and finally let a seven year old girl in the camouflage booth paint me into a rainbow before I head back to the Training Center.  
  
"That's a good look for you," Chaff says when I get there. "Street fair?"  
  
"Yeah. I never heard of that before. I didn't know there were surprises left in the Capitol."  
  
"There was one for Rue last year," Chaff says. "You were a little busy. Where was yours?"  
  
I tell him. His was on the other side of town, by the power stations. Apparently, it's the only way the poorer parts of town can think about sponsoring. I wonder if they'd be allies, but thinking about it, I realize none of them were inspired to overthrow the government (except maybe the artist). They were just personally inspired to be better people. Which, in Snow's world, may be more revolutionary than a gunshot, but isn't really a war strategy.  
  
I go up to the District Twelve apartment and don't find anyone there. I guess that the kids are on the roof, and discover that I'm right when I open the door a crack. They are sitting by the remains of a picnic. Katniss is asleep with her head on Peeta's lap, and he is stroking her hair, completely focused on her. I could probably slam the door without being noticed, but I don't.  
  
Darius is back in the apartment when I get there, and I tell him to make sure people leave Katniss and Peeta alone. He grins lecherously and nods, then holds up four fingers and points at the floor. I nod, but decide to clean the rainbow off my face before I go downstairs to the District Four apartment.  
  
It's never been forbidden to visit other floors in the Training Center, though of course, we only have the keys to our own floors, which makes it almost impossible to do. I have no idea exactly how I'm supposed to get there, so I head down to the lounge level, where I find Johanna also wandering.  
  
"Any thoughts?" she asks.  
  
I shake my head.  
  
"What about that alliance?"  
  
I wince. The last thing I want to tell Johanna Mason is that she's been rejected by a girl she claims she can't stand the sight of. "Well," I say, "you know they have to have conditions."  
  
"Conditions?"  
  
I think about it. "Yeah. Well -- you have to make sure Beetee and Wiress get to them."  
  
She stares at me. "You're kidding. She wants me in charge of Nuts and Volts? What's she punishing me for?"  
  
"Stripping in front of her fiancé?" I suggest.  
  
"Oh. Right." She sighs dramatically, as if burdened with the entire world (though as far as I know, she's only mildly irritated by Wiress and knows perfectly well that Beetee's in the inner circles of the Rebellion). "Fine. I'll bring them with bells on."  
  
The elevator comes down and Finnick beckons us onto it, scooting us up to District Four, Johanna complaining all the way about "Katniss"'s requirements for an alliance. When the door opens, Finnick crooks his arm at Harris Greaves and says, "Your turn!" Mags shakes her head and manages to hobble over to the elevator before Harris gets there. Finnick rolls his eyes. "She loves the elevator. The view."  
  
About half of the victors are here, not all from rebel districts, along with several stylists and preps. Gloss is dancing on the coffee table with Cecelia. Enobaria is pouring drinks. Chaff is entertaining several people by describing my make-up from earlier. Cashmere, whose talent as a singer never did light the world on fire, nevertheless managed to make friends with a lot of people in the industry, and she's playing music that hasn't been released yet.  
  
"I guess everyone's done with their arduous interview practice," Johanna says. She takes off her shirt, going down to some kind of fancy bra, and climbs up on the table to dance with Gloss and Cecelia.  
  
I wait until our entrance has passed beyond notice, then tell Finnick, "We need to talk."  
  
He frowns. "Somewhere quieter?"  
  
"No. Best not anywhere quiet."  
  
"Oh."  
  
I look around to make sure no one is looking. "I lied to Johanna," I say. "I don't know why, but I did. Katniss doesn't want allies. Peeta's going along with her."  
  
Finnick swears under his breath for a minute, then says, "Now what?"  
  
"You're Katniss's ally," I say.  
  
" _Am_ I?"  
  
"Would it help if I told you she hanged an effigy of Seneca Crane during her evaluation?"  
  
"I'm her permanent ally, in that case," Finnick says, smiling. "Until the end of time."  
  
"Good. Because you're going to have to prove it to her." I take off the bracelet Cinna gave me. "I'm pretty sure she saw me wearing this, so congratulations, you now have a District token."  
  
"From someone else's District, no less."  
  
"She still might not go for it. She doesn't want to make friends that she thinks she'll have to kill."  
  
"That's crazy," Finnick says dryly. "Who wouldn't want that?"  
  
"Keep Peeta alive. As long as she sees you're doing that, she'll tolerate an alliance."  
  
"You're assuming that there's going to be something to save him from right away."  
  
"With a twelve, and the Capitol gunning for both of them? I don't think you'll have to wait long."  
  
He nods and takes the bracelet, putting it on absently. It's the most I can do for the arena.  
  
I spend the evening with my friends, knowing that tomorrow, most of them will be stuck in long prep sessions for Caesar's interviews, and after that --   
  
There may not be an after that. I try not to think of that, but it keeps coming back, every time one of them walks away from me: This could be the end. I may never be near this person again.  
  
I sit down with Cecelia. She's been drinking and is now weepy and miserable and wants her husband and her babies. I listen to stories about all of them. I play a game of chess with Chaff, and lose. I dance with Seeder, and thank her for bringing Chaff to the hospital after my Games, which I realize I never actually said in so many words. I let Berenice paint me for the second time today, this time with a row of flowers over my cheeks.  
  
The Capitol attendants finally realize what's going on and demand that everyone return to the proper apartments. Beetee's argument that there is no law against fraternization in the Training Center falls on deaf ears.  
  
When I get back, I can hear Katniss and Peeta talking softly in their room -- well, technically, her room -- and I don't go in, though I really want to spend time with them, after talking to Cecelia. I'm not really their dad, and they aren't really my kids (probably just as well, given that two kids with the same father probably shouldn't act the way they do), and they need to be ready for what's coming. They help each other more than I help either one of them. I go to my room, stare at the phone, and wish Hazelle had one I could call her on. Instead, I call Effie, who's gone home for the night, and let her annoy me to sleep with tales about parties and fashion and restaurants and clubs. I try to imagine the world that's coming, where none of those things will really exist, and it fills me with a kind of unfocused regret. There's a lot of harmless nonsense out there that's about to be destroyed.  
  
And Effie is part of it.  
  
For the first time, I realize dimly that I want to bring her with me when I go. Brainwashed or not, she doesn't deserve to be here when the Capitol falls.  
  
I dream about the kids from the street fair. They're all in the arena, and I scream at Plutarch that he can't do that. They're Capitol kids, and they should at least be safe from that, if nothing else. Tazzy keeps telling Katniss, "You _can't_ die, my sissy loves you," only Katniss is just a life-sized version of the doll Solly was carrying, dressed in pants and a chopped up yellow dress. Aurelian tries to fool people into thinking he's Peeta, and Enobaria kills him, screaming that he doesn't deserve a twelve.   
  
I wake up and I have to see the kids, know they're okay. Katniss is already in prep, but Peeta has a little more time to linger over his breakfast.  
  
"They're putting me in a tuxedo for the interviews," he says, baffled. "Why?"  
  
I sigh. "They're putting Katniss in the wedding dress the Capitol voted for."  
  
He pushes his plate away, looking green. "Can't you make them stop?"  
  
I snort. "Yeah. Sure. Right about the time I can make them hand out second place ribbons after the Games."  
  
"Right. Yeah." He takes a shaky breath. "She wasn't even trying to do anything wrong."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I should've died."  
  
"No. You shouldn't have. You don't know what you mean to people. Not just Katniss." I tell him about the boys at the fair, the ones who see him as someone to emulate.  
  
"I'm no one to copy," he says. "I wrecked Katniss's life."  
  
"You saved it. And I can think of a whole lot of people out there it would be worse to copy." I shrug. "I told Katniss once that she could live a million lives and not deserve you -- "  
  
"Haymitch!"  
  
"I could live a trillion and not even come close."  
  
He stops and stares at his hands, which are resting on the table. "My mom used to say I was completely worthless."  
  
"Don't get me started on your mother."  
  
"Right. Please don't. She bought me my paints. I think she doesn't think I'm worthless now." He pulls his plate back, mostly to start pushing his food around aimlessly as far as I can tell. Finally, he says, "Katniss and I both love you a lot, Haymitch. After all this -- can you please stop poisoning yourself so you can remember that? I don't want you to kill yourself."  
  
"I'll try," I say.  
  
"Try hard." He gets up.   
  
I stand up and grab him, hug him tight. I wait for him to return it, then say, as quietly as I can, "Trust Finnick. Finnick's one of my other kids. Trust him."  
  
Peeta pulls away from me and nods.  
  
His preps come in to get him, and I am alone. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peeta's story at the interviews sends shock waves through the Capitol, and Cinna's act of rebellion brings consequences both for himself and Haymitch.

**Chapter Eighteen**  
Effie comes to collect me for a few more sponsor meetings while the kids are being prepped.  
  
We see a few of our old friends from the Daughters of the Founding, though of course, after Aquila Grant's efforts on my behalf last year, the Daughters don't exist as an organization anymore. The ladies don't hold it against me, and certainly not against the kids. I get solid sums out of them without even needing to ask, then they show me pictures of their cats and dogs, and weep a little bit over Katniss and Peeta. I ask vaguely after their friends I haven't seen, and a few pick up that I'm asking about Aquila. I gather from the blank stares that a few give me that Aquila has become a forbidden subject, which doesn't surprise me. Ulpia Jakes tells me breezily that she's pretty sure "some of the girls" are off on grand adventures, as they haven't been heard from since last year. Laurentia Hoops, my first sponsor, is a bit more comforting. She tells a long and involved story about how a friend came back from the District One spa and told her how lovely it was, and how you can simply feel that you've escaped up there in the mountains.  
  
"Sounds good," I say.  
  
She nods. "I understand that the mockingjays sing there. They sound like friends."  
  
Effie smiles uncomfortably, as she always does when she suspects the talk is getting political.  
  
And, frankly, as she often does among the Daughters lately. I don't think it has anything to do with politics. I think she just sees them, old and alone (except for their fancy pets), and sees too much of her own future there.  
  
After we leave Laurentia's, I take her out to lunch and get people to fuss over her, which perks her right up. I'd suggest that she might escape to District One's spa -- maybe Aquila could find her and get her to safety for however long the fighting lasts -- but I don't think there's time for a scheme like that. I should have gotten her out of here as soon as they announced the Quell.  
  
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks over dessert.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like you miss me."  
  
I shrug. "I've missed you since you went back to Capitol Dreams."  
  
"You do hate them, don't you?" She doesn't wait for me to answer. She knows my answer. She looks away. "I haven't been there much lately," she says. "Since the Quell announcement. They were so… _excited._ They wanted to know if I thought you or Peeta would go in. They were asking if you could still fight, or if you'd just --"  
  
"Die?"  
  
She looks at me briefly and nods. "Not exactly a sparkling conversation. Mimi never would have permitted it. I couldn't make them stop. So I stopped going to the compound."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I told them you could fight, though. I told them you fought for me on the train that year when the raiders came. I still dream about that sometimes."  
  
"I should have taught you to fight. I always promised, and I never did it."  
  
"Maybe you should teach _them_ not to attack me."  
  
"I've found a good right hook to be a fair teacher. And if that doesn't drive the lesson home, I pick up a knife." I shrug. "That's all fighting is, Effie. Teaching them to never attack you again, because the results are always painful."  
  
"Sounds like it could get circular pretty fast."  
  
"Worry about that after they back off."  
  
"Or don't poke the hornets' nest in the first place."  
  
"The hornets always get out one way or another."  
  
She smiles, and for a minute, I see Maysilee in her… certainly something I never saw before. I expect her to tell me that Abernathism isn't a healthy philosophical choice. Instead she just rolls her eyes at me and reaches over to take a bite of my dessert.  
  
After lunch, the meetings are all at the Viewing Center. I meet with a few gamblers who just sign and leave, then with a disgusting old man who will get an arrow in his throat if he ever comes close to Katniss. I check the sponsor boards from home and find a small donation from the Mellarks (huge, by Danny's standards, but about the same size as what the kids at the fair gave me yesterday). Ruth is in control of Katniss's money, but tributes' personal assets are frozen while they're in the arena, supposedly to prevent disparity in available funds. If this rule existed before now, I'm pretty sure it never came into play.  
  
The last meeting is with the Gamemakers, where they examine my sponsors to make sure I haven't done anything crooked. They sneer at Aurelian's and Danny's contributions. Not much for them to skim off the top on gifts.  
  
Effie and I meet Katniss and Peeta back at the Training Center. They both look miserable in their wedding clothes, and Katniss says that Cinna has forbidden her to raise her arms, and that the dress is very heavy. As we walk over -- the big stage is attached to the Training Center, to stop tributes from making last minute bids for freedom -- Effie reminds them not to do or say anything crazy in the interviews.  
  
"Have you both thought of what you're going to talk about? Because I didn't have anything to give Caesar when he asked."  
  
"I know I’m supposed to twirl," Katniss says, and doesn't elaborate. Peeta just shrugs and says he's going to wing it.  
  
"Any surprises this year?" Effie asks.  
  
"Not if I tell ahead of time."  
  
Katniss laughs nervously, and slides comfortably into the crook of his arm. It would look like a perfectly normal wedding picture if they weren't both seventeen years old and heading off to be murdered.  
  
Effie and I are steered to the mentors' section in the audience, where cameras will be trained on us. I can see Cinna and Portia with the stylists, and I want to run over and demand that he tell me what will happen when Katniss raises her arms and twirls. Whatever it is, I have a feeling it's dangerous.  
  
Jack Anderson is the next to be deposited in our area, and he sits down beside me. "Wedding clothes?" he says. "Cinna did that?"  
  
"Not by choice."  
  
"Oh. That's what Johanna thought. She's angry."  
  
"At Katniss?"  
  
"For once, no."  
  
Lyme arrives and sits on my other side, watching the stage nervously for her tributes from Six. "I hope they're sober," she says. "At this point, that's all I hope."  
  
I think that, with Berenice and Paulin, this may be more than anyone could hope for, especially if she's given them any time off today. I don't say so.  
  
There's no chance for further talk, as the studio is filling up quickly. The stage lights come on and Caesar comes out, welcoming everyone to the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games interviews.  
  
"We know our tributes this year," he says. "They hardly need introductions! But here they are!"  
  
He calls them out one at a time to occupy the seats spread out in their usual arc. Gloss and Cashmere get polite applause, Enobaria gets wolf whistles, Brutus gets a huge cheer. The welcome for Mags is sort of puzzled -- her Games were so long ago that she's been largely forgotten -- but Finnick's is deafening. I think a girl in the next section over from us might actually faint.  
  
Districts Five and Six don't get great welcomes, though Berenice and Paulin don't really care. Johanna gives the audience a two handed wave and a whoop, and they whoop back at her, some waving imaginary axes. Cecilia has something of a fan base among young families. Chaff's and Seeder's Games, like Mags's, were too long ago. Then Katniss comes out in her wedding dress.  
  
There is an audible gasp in the audience, and someone screams her name. She looks up and gives an absolutely perfect sad smile. More people scream for her. I only know Peeta has come out because a few people manage to call his name as well.  
  
"They _do_ love them," Effie whispers, then sighs.  
  
Caesar gets control of the audience, then starts the interviews.  
  
I don't know what I expected, and glancing at Jack and Lyme, I think they didn't, either. But it's obvious that there was some kind of illegal tributes' meeting, because all of them are sticking to the same storyline -- the Quell is cruel, the Quell separates the Capitol from its friends, the Quell may be (according to Beetee) entirely illegal. Finnick reads a poem to his "true love" in the Capitol, which I'm sure anyone who was with him while he mentored Annie would recognize... but that doesn't include anyone in the audience except those of us in the mentors' section, and we're not talking. Berenice manages coherence for her three minutes, though it's strained, as she talks about how the Capitol is like butterflies that fly up from the lake, and she knows everyone is a beautiful soul. Paulin isn't quite as coherent, but manages to convey that he's got friends here. Most of them are morphling dealers, but that goes unmentioned.  
  
"Can't something be done about this?" Johanna demands when her turn comes. "Whoever created this Quell never suspected exactly how much I'd love all of you!"  
  
"Oh," Jack says beside me, "I think they probably knew exactly how much you'd love them, Jo."  
  
I laugh. Much of the audience is a wreck, crying, and the sound fits right in. Effie looks confused.  
  
Cecilia uses her three minutes to talk about how much she loves her children, and how she knows that people in the Capitol understand that. Seeder and Chaff both wax eloquent about how powerful District Eleven thinks President Snow is -- why, he could just call the whole thing off, but he must not think anyone cares.  
  
"Oh, but the Games are ordained by history," Caesar says.  
  
"But we live _now,_ " Chaff finishes, causing someone in the audience to actually wail with pain.  
  
Caesar moves to Katniss. I don't know if she's been involved in this, but I somehow suspect she wasn't, not the way she and Peeta have been keeping to themselves outside the training room. I don't know what she'll do or how she'll play it.  
  
She plays straight to the audience, pretending that somehow, the great tragedy of her presumed upcoming death is that they won't be able to come to her wedding. "I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress," she says. "Isn't it just... the most beautiful thing?"  
  
She raises her arms and twirls.  
  
At first, I don't recognize what's happening. There is a haze of smoke, then someone screams. A flicker of flame has come up from the skirt, and is now wrapping itself around Katniss. She looks stunned, but keeps twirling. Beyond the flame, the skirt turns black and... feathered.  
  
I look at Cinna, who is watching with a fierce expression on his face. Beside him, Portia has her hands at her heart.  
  
The flames engulf Katniss completely, then fade away.  
  
The dress is black, with white patches on the drooping sleeves. Black and white wings.  
  
The mockingjay. Live and in person.  
  
What none of the rest of us have done, Cinna has done -- he's brought the rebellion to the stage. No one in the districts will miss the meaning of this. Snow won't miss it, either.  
  
Caesar looks pale. He hasn't missed it, either. He carefully guides her to her chair and gives her a chance to claim surprise -- which is true -- then very deliberately calls out Cinna for it. Supposedly to receive his applause, which he does. The Capitol loves his magical clothes. But I know where Caesar's loyalty is, and what he meant to accomplish. He has made absolutely sure that the blame for this does not fall on Katniss.  
  
I don't know whether to thank him or kill him.  
  
He moves on to Peeta, and does not address the immolation of his bride-to-be, which would be strange in any other circumstance. Peeta himself also doesn't acknowledge it. I wonder what he makes of it, actually. The symbolism of choosing the rebellion over their supposed life together is pretty stark. He manages to steer Caesar into asking him about his reaction to the Quell, to get back to the storyline that everyone else has made. And he asks if the entire nation of Panem can keep a secret. Caesar promises that we can. Which may be true, since, as this is mandatory viewing, there will be absolutely no one to tell it to.  
  
"We're already married," Peeta says.  
  
I frown. Caesar looks puzzled, but he seems inclined to let Peeta spin whatever story he wants.  
  
The story he chooses is _mine_.  
  
He's convincing enough that I'd actually wonder if they went through with it -- who knows what they were up to when her foot was broken? -- but I know exactly where he got the story. I told it to him. He's replaced Digger with Katniss and me with himself, and not set it during the goodbyes before the Games (we didn't have time), but otherwise, it's what I told him about Digger's makeshift wedding, private and quick, bread held out to the fire. He sets it a little bit after the Victory Tour, but doesn’t give a lot of detail. He only has three minutes, and he's obviously headed somewhere else.  
  
I doubt they even talked about anything like this. Given the look on Katniss's face, Peeta is making it up from whole cloth. Unlike last year, however, she manages to arrange her surprise into a sort of demure modesty, staring at the black feathers on her skirt.  
  
I have no idea how I feel about this. I was barely willing to tell Peeta, let alone Panem. It's private, and it belongs to me.  
  
But whatever Peeta is doing, the audience is watching him intently. He's letting himself get upset.  
  
"I didn't know they were married," Effie says. "Oh, they should have told me, I wouldn't have put them in separate rooms!"  
  
"Well, they didn't stay in them, did they?" I say, since I can't think of anything else.  
  
On stage, Peeta is working himself into a fit of agony about how they never should have gotten married, a line I don't understand until Caesar says that he ought to be glad they had some time together, and he manages to top everything everyone has said so far:  
  
"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," he says, "if it weren't for the baby."  
  
Beside me, Effie grasps and clutches at her heart. There are screams from the audience, tears and keening.  
  
I know he's lying, but I also know he's telling a truth that everyone in the districts of Panem knows: That the Games are nothing but child sacrifice. He is driving that home to the Capitol audience in terms they understand -- the child of their darlings, a child they feel they have a stake in, is about to die. I think of him holding his niece, of the way he tried to protect her from all of this, and I know that, somewhere under the lie, Peeta is expressing his real fears... the fears shared by every adult in Panem.  
  
And now shared by the Capitol.  
  
I look at the shot of Katniss, half-expecting her to be furious. She isn't. She looks fiercely angry, yes, but not at Peeta. She is every inch the protective mother now.  
  
She's definitely getting better at this.  
  
Caesar makes motions of trying to get control of his audience, but he isn't trying very hard. This is what he wants. He is, as he threatened, rubbing their faces in the dirty business. With Peeta's help, he has managed to pull out the foundation on everything they want and believe.  
  
Someone in the back finally notices and starts blaring the anthem. Katniss stands and takes Peeta's hand.  
  
And Chaff's stump.  
  
Chaff takes Seeder's hand. Seeder takes Earl Bates's. He takes Kate Markez's. Gloss and Cashmere join hands. Finnick and Mags are already holding hands, and reach out to Five and Three.  
  
The victors stand across the stage, hand in hand. Some seem confused, others just caught in the moment, but many -- not just those from rebel districts -- are glaring out defiantly.  
  
Someone cuts the feed, and the studio is thrown into utter chaos. Lights go on and off. Mentors are pulled away from escorts. I see Effie dragged away with a crowd of other Capitol citizens, then a Peacekeeper shoves me none too gently, back towards the exit into the Training Center. In the street beyond the window, I can see Capitol citizens screaming and crying. I am passing through the small open air section when an announcement goes out that the re-airing has been canceled, and people are to return to their homes and calm down. This has absolutely no effect on the crowd. The sound is cut off when I go back inside.  
  
I can't see Katniss or Peeta, but I am pushed into Chaff, who grabs me and throws me into an elevator. We're with someone from Nine, but no one talks. At the eleventh floor, Chaff drags me out, and Seeder holds the door open with her foot.  
  
"There's no time," he says. "They won't let us say goodbye tomorrow."  
  
I shake my head. We're rescuing everyone.  
  
Chaff smiles. "It's the arena, Haymitch. No guarantees. But we already won. Tonight, on that stage. We won. Did you see them outside?"  
  
I want to say something, but I can't seem to speak. I'd trade everything I have for Peeta's silver tongue right now. But it doesn't work that way. I manage to choke out, "Thank you."  
  
He embraces me and whispers, " _Take them down._ "  
  
I nod. "Right. And what you told me, when I said I wasn't sure how to keep going... you remember it, right?"  
  
He nods. "Stay alive."  
  
"Yeah. That. Remember it. Do it."  
  
"Our game is keeping everyone alive," he says. "And that includes us. Hopefully. We're out of time. They'll be looking for you soon."  
  
I am gently prodded back to the elevator, where Seeder gives me a hug. "You'll be fine," she lies.  
  
The doors close, and I am shut off from them.  
  
I gather myself in the short ride up to the twelfth floor. I suddenly want a drink. I want the detoxers out of my system, and I want to be completely and utterly numb. I don't want to have a war. I don't want the Games. I want to go back to my house and drink myself to death.  
  
The thought comes easily. I don't mean numbness. I don't even mean a stupor. I want to drink until the poison shuts every single thing inside me down, and I don't have to think about anything ever again. I can even imagine how it will feel -- first the dizziness and a sick stomach, then the world slowing and going gray around the edges, then black as I slip under.  
  
But the door opens, and Katniss and Peeta are at the far end of the hall, holding each other up. They need me. I can't climb the hanging tree. Not yet.  
  
"It's madness out there," I tell them. "Everyone's been sent home, and they've canceled the recap of the interviews on television."  
  
Peeta and Katniss go to the window and look down on the crowd. Peeta asks, "What are they saying? Are they asking the President to stop the Games?"  
  
He looks so hopeful that I hate to point out the obvious, but I have to. This may be a big win in the long run -- bigger than we could get by force of arms -- but in the short term, it doesn't mean anything. These people don't even know how to oppose Snow, and even if they did, he'd hold the Games to punish them for it.  
  
Katniss accepts this stoically. "The others went home?" she asks.  
  
I nod. "They were ordered to. I don't know how much luck they're having getting through the mob."  
  
"Then we'll never see Effie again," Peeta says, and he might be right -- I plan for them to live, but they'll never come back to the Capitol, and I don't know if I can ever get Effie to leave it. "You'll give her our thanks?"  
  
Katniss nods enthusiastically. "More than that. Really make it special. It's Effie, after all. Tell her how appreciative we are, and that she was the best escort ever and tell her... tell her we send our love."  
  
I nod. I think Effie will appreciate that, if I see her again. I'm suddenly not sure I will. I expect fully to be pulled in for questioning tonight after Cinna's little art project, and "questioning" in the Capitol frequently ends in disappearances. I won't tell the kids about this. They don't need to know. Once they're in the arena, contact will come from remote communications, and they won't know whether it's me or not. One of the other rebel mentors will volunteer for them.  
  
I hope.  
  
Even if I'm not dragged in for questioning, their doors will be locked, and so will mine.  
  
"I guess this is where we say our good-byes as well," I tell them.  
  
Peeta looks up, first surprised, then realizing that it's true. "Any last words of advice?" he asks.  
  
I know what they expect, and I say it: "Stay alive."  
  
There's something to be said for ritual. They both find smiles somewhere, and I tell them to go to bed.  
  
They just stand there. I just stand there. Any one of the three of us -- or all of us -- could be dead in twenty-four hours. Katniss bites her lip and looks at Peeta, who says, "You take care, Haymitch."  
  
I hear his voice in my mind this morning, saying _Katniss and I both love you a lot._ I want to say that I love them, too -- that I've been more alive in the last year than I've been since the arena -- but there doesn't seem to be any hook to hang that on, and in the end, I can't do it. I haven't said that to anyone for so long, it doesn't even feel like a language I know. I just hug each of them. I'm not sure they know how rare that is for me. They turn to go to their room, to spend their last night together before going into the arena alone.  
  
"Katniss!" I call.  
  
She turns.  
  
I feel a lot of things I want to say, but the words don't come. What I say is, "When you're in the arena..." I fight for words. I want to tell her everything. But we're bugged here, and there is no way.  
  
"What?" she asks.  
  
I settle for, "You just remember who the enemy is. That's all. Now go on. Get out of here."  
  
I watch them disappear into her room, and as soon as the shower starts, I hear the door lock.  
  
They're gone.  
  
I don't go to my room. I wait in the living room for the Peacekeepers, and let them in quietly when they arrive just past midnight. I don't want them making noise and disturbing the kids.  
  
I go with them without protest.  
  
The car takes us away from the Training Center, to a dingy blue and white building in a dirty part of the Capitol. There are no windows. Inside, I'm guided through a labyrinth of halls to a small room with a single table and harsh lighting. Cinna is already there.  
  
He looks up when I'm pushed inside. "Guess I got their attention," he says. "Sorry I didn't tell you anything. I guess it was a huge surprise." He looks at me meaningfully. We are bugged.  
  
I nod. "Yeah. Guess you shouldn't have spoiled the president's favorite dress. Matches her pin, though."  
  
He frowns. "Haymitch..."  
  
"I figure the way it's been popping up all over the Capitol... great way to speak to the trend. Turn her into her own district token... it's clever. And the fire again."  
  
"Haymitch, they know--"  
  
I sigh in frustration. "Okay, they probably picked up that you think she's too young to get married. But they beat you to it."  
  
He blinks at me dully, and he seems annoyed, which I understand -- he made a huge stand for the rebellion on that stage tonight, and I'm turning it into fashion mixed with a little personal concern. But we are not going to be better off if he ends up thrown in jail.  
  
"It was... a lot of work," he says.  
  
"And all just to show how much you care about Katniss. She's grateful for it, even if you were a little late on the marriage business."  
  
He stiffens in fury, then finally relents. "Well, I still think she's too young. But I guess I missed that protest by a few months."  
  
"She'll probably want a present now that you know. Baby present, too. Burning bunting or something."  
  
"I'll make that baby anything it asks for."  
  
Now that we're on the same page, there's no point for the eavesdroppers to keep listening in. We beat them. So they come in and ask intrusive questions for three hours. One of them implies that Cinna has done more with Katniss than dress her, and that he and I might "pass her around," and proceeds to ask a lot of explicit questions about it.  
  
I grab him and shove him into the wall. "If you ever say anything like that again--" I start.  
  
"You'll what?" someone says at the door.  
  
I look over my shoulder to see Snow himself, smiling unpleasantly.  
  
He comes into the room. "I'm very curious, Mr. Abernathy. What will you do to Officer Jordan?"  
  
I let him go and say, "Maybe have a nice, quiet drink with him."  
  
Snow laughs. "Maybe we should all dispense with the fiction," he says. "It would hardly do for me to have either of you disappear at the moment. District Twelve will need its mentor, and I'm sure Miss Everdeen would be utterly bereft without her stylist tomorrow morning."  
  
"I'm sure that's your greatest concern," Cinna says.  
  
"Oh, but her feelings are of the utmost importance to me. I wouldn't dream of not having you there with her before her launch." He turns to me. "And Mr. Abernathy -- there are so many people depending on you. Cinna here, of course, and his partner. The lovely Miss Trinket. The equally lovely Mrs. Hawthorne." He smiles unpleasantly. "Oh, yes, Mr. Abernathy, I'm well aware of why she was removed from your employ. And it would be a terrible shame if someone were to look to closely at your young tribute's brother. Or father. So I'm quite sure that you'll restrict any statements you might be inclined to make to Miss Everdeen's personal life, which of course, as you said, that unfortunate incident with the dress was all about." He turns to Cinna. "You are certainly expressive. I can't imagine anyone who saw that show tonight didn't understand _exactly_ how you feel about Miss Everdeen's choices."  
  
Cinna and I look at each other. There would be a time to die to make a statement, but this isn't it. Not with District Thirteen and war only days away.  
  
"I see you understand your position," Snow says. He looks at the Peacekeeper. "See to it that Cinna is brought to his tribute at the appointed time, which is... goodness, how time flies. Twenty minutes. Take him now."  
  
The Peacekeeper frowns. "But sir--" He looks at me.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Abernathy and I are capable of a civilized conversation, then I will return him to the Viewing Center."  
  
There is no arguing with a direct order, so the Peacekeeper leads Cinna out. He looks once over his shoulder at me, then is gone.  
  
"Tell me, Abernathy," he says when they've disappeared. "What's happening here?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"I could spare one of the children. Order Plutarch Heavensbee to protect one of them in the arena. The public would love it if it were Katniss, of course, especially in her delicate condition, but you could even choose which. I'm sure there are any number of young women in the Capitol who would be happy to ease Peeta's pain."  
  
"Like they ease Finnick's?"  
  
"Well, Finnick will hardly be available, will he? Though I do have women lined up who want his DNA harvested for them."  
  
"You're a piece of work."  
  
He leans over. "You will stress that Cinna's art school design project was exactly what you've said here. Katniss is a loyal citizen of Panem, and that little stunt was just about her personal life. If it seems to be anything else, there are any number of dangers in this year's arena, no matter how many of your friends you've gotten to protect her."  
  
"Or?"  
  
He doesn't answer this directly, and doesn't really have to. I saw what happened to my family and to Digger. "Now, we have a deal on the table. Tell me what's going on. Tell me where my leaks are. And I will give you the life of one of your tributes. Whichever one you want."  
  
I know this isn't an option -- I’m getting them both out -- but I hate him for thinking of it, anyway, for thinking that I would choose to sacrifice either one of them, along with Johanna and Finnick and Chaff and all of the others, just to ensure that the other survived. I hate him for thinking I'd betray everything that's left of me to do it.  
  
I stand up.  
  
"What's going on is the Quarter Quell," I say. "You're planning to murder my friends and my kids in your arena. As to your leaks? Ask your damned plumber. I have no idea."  
  
"As you wish," he says and sweeps out, locking the door behind him.  
  
Four hours later, Peacekeepers come and lock me into the back of a car. They drive me to the Viewing Center and escort me upstairs. Effie is waiting there. She looks confused. I don't offer her information.  
  
"Katniss and Peeta wanted me to tell you goodbye," I say. "And that they love you."  
  
She bursts into tears, and I comfort her until the other mentors start to arrive. We each sit by our district phones, to contact sponsors as we need to.  
  
The anthem plays, and the camera, as it traditionally does, switches to the point of view of one of the tributes. This year, they've picked Faraday Sykes. She rises up, and the screen is filled with glare. The arena is full of water.  
  
Each tribute is shown as the clock winds down. Peeta, who can't swim as far as I know, just stares at the water around him. Johanna rolls her eyes. Finnick and Mags look pleased.  
  
The camera goes to Katniss. Her eyes are wide and her hands are shaking, and she looks like she can't catch her breath.  
  
The phone beside me rings. I pick it up. A woman is weeping on the other end.  
  
"Haymitch! Haymitch, it's Portia."  
  
"Portia! What is it?"  
  
"There's been... there's been an accident."  
  
"An accident?"  
  
"Haymitch... Cinna's dead." 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Games don't give Haymitch a chance to feel the losses that are being inflicted on him as he loses friends in and out of the arena.

**Part Three: Games**

  
  
**Chapter Nineteen**  
Portia's words hang in the air: _Cinna's dead._  
  
I can't seem to process it. I talked to him only hours ago, and we worked around the dress. Around the treason.  
  
I look at the screen, where Katniss is trying to get control of herself, and I remember Snow saying, "I'm sure Miss Everdeen would be utterly bereft without her stylist tomorrow morning."  
  
It was never about the dress. Cinna's treason was irrelevant; he was always going to die. Because whatever "accident" happened, it happened in front of Katniss, only seconds before she would need to fight for her life.  
  
She manages to stop her shaking as the clock ticks down. She straightens up and looks out over the water. The gong sounds. She jumps and swims for her life. I try to focus on her, and on Portia.  
  
On the phone, Portia is still weeping. "I'm sorry," she says, "I know you have to watch... the Games... I... can't come back... Cinna was my... sponsor... I'm not a Capitol citizen..."  
  
Effie, listening on an earpiece, takes the microphone from me and says, "Don't be ridiculous, put someone on. I'm a citizen and I'll sponsor you."  
  
I can't think about it. I can't take the time at all, if I'm going to keep Katniss and Peeta alive. I know Cinna would want her to live, so I have to turn away from his death, cut myself off from it, and be a Games mentor. It's a lousy tribute to someone who has now given his last measure to free people whose lives he never needed to have a stake in.   
  
_It's the last year_ , I think. _The last time. One way or another, the Games are over for me._  
  
Beside me, Effie's voice settles into a comforting kind of drone. I turn back to the two screensset into my table.  
  
I can see on Peeta's screen that he hasn't left his platform. He's frowning uncertainly at the water, crouching down to test it, which, come to think of it, is probably smart. The Gamemakers wouldn't make it impossible to get to the shore (watching people stand on platforms until they fall into acid isn't good television), but they could definitely make it difficult or painful. Katniss has cleared most of the distance to the little central island where the Cornucopia sits.  
  
She gets to it first, just a breath ahead of Finnick. I have no idea where she learned to swim, though I doubt it's in her "big bathtub," which is what she tells Finnick when he asks. She's being hostile, which doesn't surprise me, given what she must have just seen. When she's upset, hostility is her natural stance.  
  
Finnick grins and says, "Lucky thing we're allies, right?" He shows her my bracelet.   
  
She blinks at it, leveling an arrow at him, then says, "Right."  
  
There's no room for further debate. Thalis Dorgan from Five, against all probabilities, makes it to the beach next. Finnick throws his trident, and the first tribute falls. Apparently Finnick is not in on the game of keeping everyone alive. He whispers something to Katniss that I can't hear, then Enobaria and Gloss are headed up the beach, Brutus close behind. It's either be allies or be dead, and Katniss decides in an eye blink to follow Finnick's lead... at least for now. They manage to fend off the Career pack, but Finnick pulls her away from the Cornucopia.  
  
The large screen coverage remains on the Cornucopia. I can see Katniss and Finnick on her small screen, and I plug in an earphone to hear them, though there's not much to hear. At the table next to me, Toffy Taggart is watching Seeder pull herself onto one of the long spokes of land. Chaff doesn't swim well without his hand, and he's foundering, but no one seems to be coming after him. He's heading away from the Cornucopia.  
  
The dominant screen shows Brutus, Enobaria, Cashmere, and Gloss taking up positions at the Cornucopia, arming themselves extravagantly.  
  
"Looks like you took a hit," Cashmere says, punching Brutus in the stomach, where the flotation belt he was wearing is now gone. It's lying on the sand with an arrow through it, bleeding out something purple.  
  
"Yeah," he says. "I'll never recover. Good thing I can swim." He grins and hands her a quarterstaff. "Sorry, sweetie, but it looks like someone beat you to your bows and arrows."  
  
"Those were my brother's," she reminds him. "But I still think I can do better than a stick."  
  
"I've heard that about you."  
  
"Think you can do without one?" She digs through the pile and comes up with two flails. There's also a chakram, but she discards it. That's the danger of veterans in the arena. They know there's no point wasting time on weapons they don't know how to use, though I expect she'll dump it in the water to take it from whoever it was meant for. It might be Faraday Sykes -- she improvised a kind of throwing weapon in her game, and might have learned it well enough for the Gamemakers to provide it.  
  
Cashmere continues her search for ranged weapons.  
  
Enobaria and Gloss are digging through the hoard like a pair of kids at a birthday party. There aren't many weapons that either of them can't use. Gloss is enamored of a selection of throwing knives. Enobaria is trying everything.  
  
On my little screens, I see that Finnick has swum out to get Peeta while Katniss guards -- this is the first time I've felt hopeful that she'll stay in the alliance. Trusting him with Peeta is the biggest step she can take. Peeta crouches down and says, "Haymitch says I can trust you."  
  
"Never doubt Haymitch," Finnick says. "Come on. Let's get you to dry land. Can that leg take saltwater?"  
  
"Hope so. Never tried it."  
  
"First time for everything," Finnick says. "Come on. Jump in. I'll steer."  
  
Peeta jumps in. In the next section, I can see Mags from the corner of my eye, paddling along without a care in the world.   
  
"No!" I hear from the front of the room.  
  
I look up. At the Cornucopia, Woof from District Eight has collapsed onto the sand, bleeding from a knife wound in his side. Cecelia, running up from wherever she swam in from, grabs a rock from the beach and lobs it at Gloss, pushing him back. She puts her arms under Woof's and tries to drag him away. Enobaria comes at them slowly, smiling and raising a short sword.  
  
Cecelia grabs a handful of sand and pebbles and runs forward, throwing it all into Enobaria's face and knocking her down. She rolls away, presenting Enobaria's back to Brutus, who was coming with his knife, then kicks her up and into him, making a crazy dash for the pile of weapons. She grabs the first thing that comes into her hand, which happens to be the chakram Cashmere rejected. She throws it wildly, cutting her hand, and it slices through Gloss's bicep, then skids into the water. She fishes further and comes up with a pair of tomahawks, then runs back to Woof.   
  
He is muttering incoherently and I have a sudden, very clear memory of standing beside him on my victory tour, on the observation deck in the District Eight Justice Building. Like me, he was alone in Victors' Village at the time, and he asked if I was lonely out there, too. I acknowledged that I was, and he said, "You should find some company other than the bottles they're showing you with on television. That's not going to help."  
  
He and his wife more or less adopted the orphaned Cecelia when she was put in the next house, and he's the one who danced with her at her wedding.  
  
He gasps in a rattling breath, saying nothing intelligible, then lies still. Cecelia makes a choked sound, and whispers something under her breath as she closes his eyes, but has no time to mourn further, because Cashmere is on her, striking with her flails. Blossoms of blood come up on Cecelia's back.  
  
Someone taps my shoulder and I jump.  
  
"I'm sorry," Effie whispers. "Haymitch, I'm very sorry about all of this."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I have to go to the Justice Building and sign some forms for Portia," she says, and reaches over to touch my face. Her hand feels warm. "I'm sorry. But I don't want to lose her, too."  
  
I stroke the back of her hand. "Bring her straight here when you get her back," I tell her. I have a feeling that, sponsor or no, Portia is not safe in the Capitol. I want her on Plutarch's escape.  
  
Effie nods and starts to leave. I grab her hand again. She turns. "What is it?"  
  
"Stay safe," I say. "And... you're a good person, Effie."  
  
She squeezes my hand, then gives me an exasperated sigh and puts my hair in order. She turns and leaves.   
  
I can't watch her go. Paulin Gibbs has reached the shore. His usual vacant expression is gone, and for the first time since his Games, I see the boy who won. He wasn't a clever player, but when he was raised to anger, he was terrifying. He tears Enobaria away from Cecelia and throws her in the sand, but suddenly, his chest bursts open, and a spear comes through it. He falls. Behind him, Gloss is smiling, having a grand game. He comes forward and retrieves his spear, sliding Paulin off of it like shish kabob and rolling him away into the water.  
  
Cecelia has struggled to her feet, and she stumbles back to find Seeder, who's wrestled the short-sword away from Enobaria. Enobaria scrambles back to the Cornucopia for more weapons. Cecelia and Seeder stand back to back. Seeder is striking at people with the flat of her blade, trying to disarm. "Axes," Cecelia says, looking at her tomahawks. "For Jo. We should go."  
  
Seeder nods. They start to make their way across the beach, fending off thrown weapons. Cecelia scoops some up as they run.  
  
Claudius's voice comes up, and I look at the screen that's showing the official broadcast. "Looks like we have three alliances already -- Districts One and Two, as always, and the surprise alliance of Districts Twelve and Four. And now, we seem to have a ladies' only club, with Cecelia and Seeder apparently seeking to join with Johanna Mason!" He cuts to my team struggling through the woods, Peeta chopping at the vines with his knife while Finnick carries Mags and Katniss keeps her bow at the ready. The Careers are regrouping and rearming. Seeder and Cecelia are fighting now with the tributes from District Nine. The camera closes on one of the tomahawks, then cuts to Johanna, who is ignoring the Cornucopia and swimming around the edge of the island. I hope she's looking for Beetee and Wiress.  
  
My phone rings. A new sponsor. I try to keep my eye on the screen while entering her into the system. I misspell her name twice and have to ask her to clarify how much she's pledging.  
  
On screen Kate Markez from Ten has joined Johanna and Seeder, and they've driven back the District Nine victors. Kate is not playing by Seeder's rules any more than Finnick is. She takes a vicious slash at the woman from Nine. It would cut her throat, but she moves at the last second and it opens a gash in her cheek instead.  
  
I hang up. I need Effie here to take the calls, and Snow knows it. In my head, I hear him say, _I'm sure Miss Everdeen would be utterly bereft without her stylist_ , and I can as easily imagine him telling someone else, _I'm sure Abernathy would be bereft without his escort_ , and having her dragged away as soon as she walks out the door. I push the image away. That would defeat Snow's point. He'd want me to see it, and since she's not being dragged back in, she's all right. She has to be.  
  
_Cinna's dead._  
  
I shudder, and bring up the sponsor boards, which are very lively with discussion about the alliance. Pin money is trickling in from Twelve, and suggestions are starting to appear on screen. Someone wants me to buy them a boat, which wouldn't be at all an easy target in such a small arena. Others (in a thread started by the ever-reliable Delly Cartwright, I see) want me to send water, which I may do if they don't find some, but don't want to waste money on if it's not necessary. Consumables are sometimes necessary, and definitely wanted, but by definition, they have to be replaced regularly if the tributes are depending on them.  
  
Something thumps on my table, and I look up to see Harris Greaves, who has wheeled his viewing table over. "As long as we're allies," he says, and turns up his screens. Finnick has set Mags down, and she's having a conversation with Peeta that I don't think he's following, but he's listening intently and paying attention to her. Finnick is at the base of a tree. On my screen, I can see that Katniss is climbing it.  
  
"IDIOT!"  
  
My attention goes back to the main broadcast screen, where Johanna is now running up onto the beach, following Beetee, who is running hell-bent for the Cornucopia. Wiress tries to go after him, but Johanna shoves her aside impatiently, right into Blight, and yells, "Keep her here!"  
  
She runs toward the Cornucopia.  
  
Beetee makes it to the pile of weapons and starts digging wildly for something, so focused that I'm sure it's more to do with our plans than the Games. Since Plutarch wouldn't tell us what the arena was, I hope he gave Beetee what he'd need to defuse it. There was talk about blowing the forcefield, but I don't know how they plan to do it. I do not, apparently, need to know.  
  
Beetee is so focused that he doesn't see Thelma Cotton, the woman from District Nine, sneak up on him and plunge her knife toward his back.  
  
Johanna tackles her at the last minute, which keeps the blow from being fatal, though blood starts to gush from Beetee's back. The knife goes skittering, and Johanna grabs it. She doesn't even hesitate before plunging it into the other woman's chest. I've spent so much time with her since she won that I forgot what she looked like when she killed people.  
  
"Blight!" she screams. "Get him!"  
  
Blight shoves Wiress to Seeder and rushes for Beetee, grabbing him under his shoulders, ignoring his screams as his wound is dragged across the sand. Beetee holds up a coil of wire, which Blight takes before Beetee can drop it. No one else would take it. Beetee and Wiress are the only electronics experts in the arena. Everyone else has ignored it.  
  
Cecelia picks up a rock and smashes it into the head of Hector Whiting, the male tribute from Nine. She screams wildly. I hope her kids aren't watching. They don't need to see Cecelia as the victor she once was.  
  
The District One Careers have headed for the forest with their supplies, and Enobaria is fighting with Kate Markez. Brutus looks to the Cornucopia and sees Johanna digging for weapons. He runs for her.  
  
Cecelia gives a war whoop and rushes in, tomahawks flashing.  
  
These aren't her weapons, and she doesn't stand a chance. Brutus runs her through with his sword and flings her into the Cornucopia.  
  
I think of the pictures of her children, of her drunken sobbing that she wanted her husband.  
  
I force my eyes to remain open. I can't break. I don't have that luxury.  
  
Johanna knocks Brutus down, but he's able to grab her arms and throw her away from the Cornucopia, away from the axes that Cecelia dropped. He takes a lazy swing at her with his sword when she tries to get up, and laughs when she backs away from it.  
  
Enobaria breaks Kate's neck, then, just for style, bites her, then throws her into the water. Beside me, I can see Toffy struggling to maintain his composure.  
  
"Haymitch!" Harris whispers urgently. "Haymitch, what's she doing?"  
  
I look down at my screens, since they will not cut away from the Cornucopia until the fighting is over. Katniss has an arrow pointed at Finnick. He is ready to block her with his trident.  
  
I grimace. Katniss. I should have told her. I should have told her _everything_. "She must have seen the fighting," I say. "Decided that alliances aren't going to last. She won't go through with shooting him."  
  
I hope. And I hope that Finnick doesn't revert to his Games the way Cecelia did. Against Finnick Odair the victor, the detached killer who went through his entire field in a matter of days, I'm not sure Katniss would stand a chance. Finnick would regret it later (probably; he doesn't discuss the subject), but his sense of self-preservation is very strong.  
  
Harris shakes his head. "This isn't how we agreed on it. He saved the boy. She's turning on him?"  
  
"She thinks he's going to turn on her." I look at my other screen. "Peeta's coming."  
  
This doesn't reassure Harris, at least not until Peeta physically inserts himself between them, forcing a cool-down.  
  
"See?" I say. "All better."  
  
"Right," Harris grumbles. "Your girl better get her act together."  
  
Somehow, Peeta and Finnick manage to convince her to go find water. I don't dare look away from the Cornucopia any longer. Unlike most other years that my tributes haven't fallen there, it matters to me what happens.  
  
Johanna is still trying to get past Brutus, who seems to have decided that this is a fabulous pastime, as he's teasing her rather than running her through. Blight has managed to pull Beetee to one of the spokes of land, and is now trying to pry Wiress over. Seeder has been surprised by the sudden arrival of Faraday Sykes, who doesn't even glance at the body of her district partner from Five. She tries for Seeder's short sword, but isn't as strong. Seeder smacks her with the flat of the blade, sending her down into the sand. There is a blood red streak across her face and she is unconscious. I can see Seeder weighing the thought of dragging her into the forest.  
  
Claudius's voice comes over the air. "It's not clear what strategy District Eleven is using. Seeder has had opportunities to strike lethal blows, but hasn't done so. Chaff has stayed away from the Cornucopia altogether." There is a brief shot of Chaff in the jungle, trying to climb a tree as Katniss did, but hampered by his missing hand. He swears under his breath.   
  
The camera returns to the Cornucopia, where Seeder has given up on Faraday and is running to Johanna's aid. "The ladies' alliance isn't just for the ladies anymore," Claudius says in a jocular tone. "It seems to include Beetee, from District Three, and possibly Blight, of District Seven. That means that nearly all of the tributes are involved in alliances very early this year."  
  
He sounds surprised. Imagine, people who've known each other for years forming quick alliances. How strange. Graphics show the names of the tributes and start grouping them into known alliances. Apparently, the blood sport at the Cornucopia has slowed down enough that they feel the need for commentary to fill time.  
  
"Johanna!" Seeder yells. "We have to get out of here!"  
  
"I need weapons!"  
  
"Get them later!"  
  
Johanna grimaces at Brutus, looking at the fallen tomahawks in the Cornucopia, lying beside Cecelia's body. Or maybe it's Cecelia she's looking at -- Cecelia who charged in to help her, and ended up with a sword through her guts. Johanna is not one to accept help gladly, and the price Cecelia paid for helping that can never be re-paid now. The best she can do is kill Brutus.  
  
Which she can't do without weapons.  
  
My telephone rings. I punch a button to put it through to a message. Not recommended procedure, but necessary with Effie gone. I can't look away now.  
  
Johanna makes a strangled sound, then backs away, wisely not turning her back on Brutus. He laughs and takes a few dancing steps toward her, jabbing the sword into empty air. She gets enough distance between them that he can't throw with accuracy, then turns and runs at full speed to Blight and Beetee.  
  
Seeder has taken over trying to coax Wiress up, but Wiress just keeps saying, "Safe place" -- the craziest thing she's ever managed to say, given where she is.  
  
Brutus has lost interest, or maybe thinks that he'd like to prolong the Games a bit by letting decent players remain. He's back in the Cornucopia, standing over Cecelia's body and examining the remaining weapons.  
  
Enobaria has no such compunctions. She has picked up a dagger from Hector Whiting. She sees Wiress, weak and handicapped by shock, and runs in with a joyous whoop.  
  
Seeder raises her sword and steps between them. "I've already taken one weapon from you, Enobaria," she says. "I'm stronger than you are. Don't do this. Come with us. You're good in a fight."  
  
Enobaria flips the dagger into her strong hand and swings it at Seeder, who parries. Seeder looks over her shoulder and yells, "Get them out, Johanna! I've got this!"  
  
Johanna is starting to run in, but stops, looking back and forth between the weeping Wiress and Seeder. With a grim expression, she finally grabs Wiress by the hair and starts dragging her. "You help!" she yells. "You help, or I'll drag you the whole way like this!"  
  
Wiress kicks and screams, then finally grabs Johanna's wrist and lets herself be pulled in a slightly less painful way. Finally, she manages to scramble to her feet. Johanna tugs her along. They head for the sea behind the Cornucopia, disappearing from the camera's angle.  
  
Seeder and Enobaria are dueling furiously on the beach. Brutus stands casually at the mouth of the Cornucopia, watching with a vaguely interested expression on his face. When Enobaria takes the duel near him, he reaches out, bored, and grabs Seeder by her hair. He shoves her head into the lip of the Cornucopia.   
  
I hear the crushing of her skull.  
  
She falls, her beautiful face obscured by blood. I think of her waiting by my hospital bed, smiling in her soft, gentle way when I woke up. I think of her dancing and of her holding me after my tributes died. Of Chaff sneaking up to Twelve and telling me that she sent me an embrace, when I needed it more than anything.  
  
If we pull Brutus out of the arena, I will personally kill him.   
  
There is no time to mourn Seeder any more than there was to mourn Cecelia or Woof or Cinna. The Games must go on.  
  
"You and me, darling," Brutus says to Enobaria. "Should we finish this here, or keep up the alliance?"  
  
She shrugs. "We let a few go, so I'll let you live a little longer."  
  
He grins, turns his back on her, and starts rooting for new weapons. On the beach, unnoticed by either of them, Faraday Sykes regains consciousness and manages to crawl away.  
  
Claudius appears on the left side of the screen. "Well," he says, "that was an exciting start to the Games!"  
  
"Can we throw him in there next year?" Toffy mutters beside me, clearing his boards of Seeder's sponsors, sending out messages asking if they'd like to support Chaff. "Just to get that firsthand reporting, of course. See how exciting it is when he's right on the scene."  
  
I snort, hoping he's just playing a part -- or fantasizing -- and hasn't forgotten that these will be the last Games.  
  
"And now, we check in with our other tributes. How have they been faring while the battle raged at the Cornucopia? It looks like more alliances!"  
  
A map of the arena comes up on the screen -- a central island, with spokes going out to a ring of forested land. It reminds me of something, but I can't place it. A light flashes at the southernmost part of the forest ring, and the camera moves in on Chaff.  
  
Earl Bates, from Ten, has found him. Neither of them went to the Cornucopia, so neither is armed. They compare notes (neither has much information), then go about looking for things to build a shelter.  
  
"Hell of a thing, being back," Earl says, testing a branch to see if it's green enough to bow.  
  
Chaff pulls some large leaves from a tree. "That’s one way to put it. Think you can climb up and get a view of the Cornucopia? Is the fighting done?"  
  
Apparently, a friendly conversation between two older men is not of interest to the Capitol. They switch away to Districts Seven and Three, where Johanna has managed to calm down, and is trying to get a look at Beetee's wound. A flashing light on the map shows them northeast of the Cornucopia. Blight and Wiress are exploring their part of the forest, searching for food. Wiress is actually good at this; she and her allies (including my friend, Elmer Parton) survived at first by knowing how to read the land. She didn't kill anyone until the end, after the miserable little traitor from Six turned on her. Blight is trying to identify the trees, which seems like a colossal waste of time, but seems to be keeping him calm.  
  
Faraday, northwest of the Cornucopia, is getting stronger as she recovers from the blow she took from Seeder, and she manages to climb a tree. She spits a tooth out into her hand and throws it away indifferently.  
  
The Careers have regrouped directly west of the central island. Brutus is reliving his exploits, much to their entertainment. He does a particularly amusing imitation of Cecelia's final war cry.  
  
Berenice is across the arena from them. She finds a sleeping animal -- something orange -- and pets it in a trance, then settles down on the ground and starts painting a rock with mud. Claudius reminds us that this was her talent, and tells the audience that she and Peeta "bonded" during training.  
  
Which is, of course, a segue to Peeta himself. He's slashing through vines and branches just southeast of where Johanna and her team are. The team is still looking for water. Finnick is carrying Mags just behind him, and Katniss brings up the rear, an arrow at the ready, watching the woods for enemies. She looks ahead at what looks like the top of a hill (on the map, we can see that it's the edge of the arena) and says, "Maybe we'll have better luck on the other side. Find a spring or something."  
  
This seems agreeable to Finnick, who must be tired after carrying Mags all this way uphill. He nods and heads for the tree line.  
  
Peeta continues slashing at vines.  
  
With a steel knife.  
  
I think about Beetee's wire, and the highly charged forcefield that they're only inches from. I understand two things simultaneously.  
  
First, that Beetee's wire is the key to breaking down the arena.  
  
Second, that Peeta is about to die.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**  
Katniss screams just a fraction of a second before Peeta brings his knife down in an arc against the vines. A sound like a whip breaks through the air, and he is thrown backward like a rag doll, flying through the air and landing hard on the ground. Finnick and Mags are toppled over along with him.  
  
"Peeta?" Katniss runs to him, grabs him. "Peeta!" She flutters her hands over his lips, her breathing becoming sharper and sharper, then presses her head against his chest. She sits up, gasping, shaking him. "PEETA! PEETA!" She slaps his face. He doesn't respond.  
  
I want to yell, but my throat is frozen. I get to my feet. I can't look away. I never should have let him go into the arena. I should have forced him to let me go in.  
  
On screen, Claudius is now taking up a corner, looking giddy. In the opposite corner, Ruth Everdeen, pale and shaky, says, "It's not too late. If someone knows how to start his heart, it's not too late..."  
  
As if in answer, Finnick bends down beside Peeta and says, "Let me." He pinches Peeta's nostrils shut.  
  
Katniss screams "No!", running at Finnick as she tried to run at the doctors on the hovercraft last year. He shoves her aside without even making an effort, then bends over Peeta and starts breathing into his mouth, pushing down on his chest in an even rhythm. Ruth is nodding in her corner, but not saying anything, so her feed is cut.  
  
"Interesting!" Claudius says. "This is an old technique, sometimes still used in the districts. In District Four, where water accidents are common, it is taught at a young age. But why would Finnick Odair save a competitor?"  
  
It's a question that I'm sure Snow must be belatedly asking himself. Bringing a competitor back to life outright is a somewhat different animal than the pragmatic alliances of most arenas.  
  
Katniss sits at the base of a tree, shivering, an arrow pointed at Finnick's back. As I watch, the arrow droops and falls. Katniss leans forward, a kind of desperate hope on her face that I know is mirrored in mine. I've seen this technique before, but not often, and I've never seen it work.  
  
With a choked sounding cough, Peeta stirs. I can't cheer -- I can barely breathe -- but Harris Greaves and Jack Anderson do. Toffy claps my shoulder. The strength goes out of my legs, and I sink down into my chair.  
  
They show reactions on the streets and in the districts. In Twelve, Danny is gulping for breath while Mir puts a dainty hand to her face. Ruth is watching warily for any sign of continuing trouble. I see Delly Cartwright in the crowd, though the camera doesn't linger. Ed isn't nearby. She's sitting with a Seam girl, who's patting her back manically.  
  
Katniss drops her weapons and runs to Peeta, brushing his hair with her fingers, crying. By the looks of it, as far as she's concerned, no one else exists in the world. "Peeta?"  
  
"Careful," he says. "There's a forcefield up ahead."  
  
There's a strange pause, then laughter sweeps through the viewing center. It is shaky and nervous, and a lot of the mentors not in on our little conspiracy look confused, but it's real. The Capitol attendants look uncomfortable. The mentors who have already lost their tributes seem like they can't quite believe the sounds coming out of their mouths. I can't hear the quiet conversation Peeta and Katniss are having. The camera focuses on Finnick, who is smiling slightly. He looks exhausted, but there is something else on his face -- recognition. It takes me a minute to understand, then I realize that he must have thought she was acting. He knew Peeta wasn't, but Katniss… Katniss isn't Annie. She doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve, and I guess some people find it hard to read her.  
  
He's read her now.  
  
And for the first time, I think he realizes that he's not just dealing with a victor, or even with the Mockingjay. He's dealing with a real girl who is really in love with this boy. Looking around the viewing center, I'm guessing that he's not the only one noticing it.  
  
Which puts them a few steps ahead of Katniss, but she has time.  
  
Katniss is crying uncontrollably. Mags hands her moss to clean her face. Finnick blames it on her fictional pregnancy hormones, and tells everyone that they need to keep going.  
  
"No, he has to rest," Katniss says, stroking Peeta's face. Her eyes go down to a glint of gold on his chest. "Is this your token?"  
  
"Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match."  
  
The camera closes in. He is wearing a golden disk with the mockingjay design etched in it. Not hard to get in the Capitol, and I'm sure Effie didn't think twice when he asked for it. I don't know if Peeta really thought through the meaning of his token. I know Katniss told him about the District Eight women and their mockingjay bread, but Peeta's game has always been different. His narrative is about binding them together for the audience. He may not mean to encourage rebellion at all, at least not our kind of rebellion.  
  
Snow will assume he does, though.  
  
Finnick offers to set up camp where they are, but Peeta says he can go on, as long as it's slowly. Then Finnick points out something that I didn't notice at all, not in any meaningful way: "You knew that forcefield was there, didn't you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning. How did you know?"  
  
"Ah," Claudius says. "An astute observation from Finnick Odair. How _did_ Katniss Everdeen sense the presence of the forcefield that marks the edge of the arena? It is invisible, to create the illusion of a continuous sky..."  
  
He goes on to describe the properties of the forcefield, while Katniss makes up one of her more ridiculous lies, involving super hearing in the ear that was repaired last year. I look at the map of the arena, rewind my viewscreen a little to the point where Peeta hit it. It's a tight arc, and there is no gap between it and land's end, as there was in my arena.  
  
My arena.  
  
Of course.  
  
For the Quell, they decided to pay me back for my insolence. I used the forcefield as a weapon. Now, they've weaponized it as well. This year, it's part of the Games.  
  
I'm surprised they waited this long.  
  
Since my little alliance has moved on to what the Capitol considers dull -- searching for drinkable water -- coverage on the big screen moves to the others. Sponsors for One and Two have been tapped to send them water, and they are now engaged in planning.  
  
"Everdeen and Mellark went off with Odair," Gloss says, drawing a circle in the mud and making an arrow in the direction he seems to think they went.  
  
"Let's go for them," Cashmere says. "They have Mags with them, too, and she'll slow them down. And those twelves that District Twelve got were a joke."  
  
Enobaria shakes her head. "Maybe a joke to get perfect marks, but they're not weak."  
  
Brutus snorts. " _She's_ not. But I told Haymitch last year -- if she doesn't get that rock off her apron strings, he'll kill her."  
  
"Yeah, I remember you saying that. Something about the Games being for 'real men.'" Enobaria counters. "But in case you didn't notice, it was the pair of them that got out of the arena last year, not your 'real man.'"  
  
"No credit to Mellark on that."  
  
"Yeah, right. She was totally frozen until he told her where to shoot."  
  
"Which wouldn't have been a problem if Cato wasn't holding him hostage at the time. She'd have shot him in the head and gone home without freezing all night."  
  
"I'm not into human shields," Gloss says, shifting the subject. "I'd rather just fight it out. But with Odair allied with them, they're strong. And if I know Mason -- which I do, in many ways -- she'll be trying to regroup with Odair. We should find her before she does."  
  
For the first time in four hours, I feel like I have the luxury to tune out. Career conversations are always the same -- who should we kill first, who should we save to kill last, and, if they're feeling particularly chipper, which of them will kill which of the others of them and win the Games. I have no idea if Gloss is telling the truth about Johanna (he might well be; I try not to think about that), but it doesn’t matter. Neither one of them is likely to let it get in the way of trying to kill each other.  
  
"What are we going to do about water?" Harris asks me, nodding at his screen, where Katniss has climbed yet another tree to have a look around. For some reason, she shoots an arrow into the sky.  
  
"Do you want to send some?" I ask.  
  
"Not if we can help it. Any idea where Plutarch's got it hidden?"  
  
"Normally I wouldn't share," Toffy says from the District Eleven table, "but I'm under strict instructions from my tributes. Consider it a long-distance alliance." He turns his remaining viewscreen.  
  
Chaff and Earl have been occupying themselves building a shelter. I'm not sure how they did it, but somehow, they managed to break one of the thinner trees. Water is bubbling up from the stump, and they are drinking from it as gratefully as they might drink from a fountain in the Capitol. As we watch, the source dries up. Toffy shrugs. "Well, that's where it is, anyway."  
  
"But it won't last if they kill trees every time they're thirsty," I say. "So there's got to be another way."  
  
I think about it as the Games play out on dozens of screens around me. I don't know how much time has passed.  
  
My phone rings. I look over my shoulder and realize that Effie is still not back. I frown and pick up. It is Julian Day, the singer who's sponsoring Katniss and Peeta. He wants to know if I'm going to send them water. "I'll send a whole barrel, my friend," he says. "Just name the price."  
  
"They'd be trapped by a barrel," I say. "But thanks. I'm trying to think of something else. Something they can take with them."  
  
"Well, you know... whatever you need. I put what we talked about in your funds this morning, and if it costs more, just call. And tell Primrose Everdeen that I said hello."  
  
I promise to do so, having no more intention of keeping it than I have of allowing Katniss and Peeta to die for each other. I check my funds. All of my arranged sponsors have come through. The question is what I need to buy.  
  
"A saw, maybe?" Harris asks.  
  
I check the sponsor gift list. "Nothing weapon-like. There's a note about special gifts. They won't send more weapons into the arena. I guess they don't want someone sending Finnick extra tridents."  
  
"I think they put enough of those in the Cornucopia. Unfortunately, I don't think it'll help to spear a tree. Maybe Peeta could saw it with that knife?"  
  
"No. If they have to knock a tree down every time they drink, it'll be pretty easy for One and Two to find them. There's got to be another way." My mind sticks on the idea of spearing the tree. Something about it is trying to come together in my head. An image of Digger in the woods comes to me. Digger with a hammer. Digger...  
  
Harris is waiting. Finally he says, "Haymitch, come on. We have to think of something."  
  
"I am thinking of something," I say. Digger in the snow. Laughing.  
  
"What?"  
  
"My girl."  
  
"Right now? Really?"  
  
I frown. "I'm trying to remember something about spearing trees."  
  
"And this is about Effie?"  
  
"About... what?"  
  
"You said your girl."  
  
He says this in such a casual tone that I realize he's made that assumption for years. The media may not believe it -- far too boring and predictable -- but I suddenly wonder exactly how many of the other victors have, at some point, glanced over at me the same way Finnick glanced at Katniss in the arena.  
  
And I wonder if I've given them as good a reason to look at me that way. I don't _think_ I have -- I mostly treat Effie like crap -- but then, Katniss thinks she doesn't have real feelings for Peeta at all.  
  
I look at Effie's empty chair again. I want her back here, if only to glance in a mirror at us and see if I can see whatever Harris has been seeing.  
  
"You watch too much television," I tell him in the meantime. It's none of his business anyway. I go back to thinking about trees, and Digger. Digger in the spring snow. Laughing because... because it was better than bakery sugar, and we didn't have to pay for it.   
  
I put my hand on my forehead and grab the gift list again. What I need isn't prohibited, but it isn't there, which means it's going to cost time and a lot of money, but I think it's worth it.   
  
I pick up the phone and jab the code for a district line. A robotic voice prompts me to enter the district number, which I do, then a live voice says, "What is your business in District Twelve?"  
  
"It's Haymitch Abernathy," I say. "Games business." This is routine -- I have to say it every time I call home to tell parents that their children are dead. I'm usually so numb that I barely notice doing it. The only lines I can dial without it (something I never had reason to know before) are the other houses in Victors' Village.  
  
"Mayor's office?" the voice asks.  
  
"Mellark's Hardware." I feel foolish for a minute, since I’m not even sure Ed has a phone, but the voice confirms that a number exists and asks, again, what my business is. "Supplies for my tributes. I know that shop has what I need, and it's not standard supply."  
  
"Hold please." The voice goes away, and I assume it is on another line, checking with the Gamemakers. If so, Plutarch must have my back, because the next thing I hear is the faraway sound of a phone ringing.  
  
Ed doesn't have a video connection. He picks up on the second ring, sounding winded. "Mellark's Hardware."  
  
"Ed, it's Haymitch."  
  
"Is Peeta all right? I was watching in the basement and --"  
  
"He's fine. But he's thirsty. You have spiles there, don't you? To tap maple trees?"  
  
Something shuffles, and I imagine him bringing up a dusty old inventory book, flipping through the pages. "Yeah," he finally says. "Box of five hundred of the things. Old Fisher never sold many."  
  
"I just need one."  
  
"To get the water like Chaff just found?" Ed guesses. "You got it. No charge, at least on my end."  
  
"There'll be a charge on this end, anyway, so you may as well charge them the regular price. If they haggle, you can drop it as low as you want."  
  
"I'm not haggling for my brother!"  
  
"You're being a businessman, not a tribute's brother," I remind him. "I want to make sure that it actually _gets_ here."  
  
"Oh." He pauses, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head. Finally, he sighs. "Haymitch… I don't know how to ship to the Games."  
  
"I'll take care of that. You just get one boxed up and go down to the production booth in about half an hour. I'll get word to them to expect you."  
  
He doesn't hang up. "Haymitch…"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I…" He takes a deep breath, and it suddenly occurs to me that Danny has found a way to tell him that he's never going to see Peeta again, no matter what. I don't know what to say to him, especially on a bugged line. "Nothing."  
  
"Yeah." He still doesn't hang up. I bite my lip. "Ed… once this is taken care of, will you go look after your dad? Let Delly watch the store for a while."  
  
"She's worried, too. I'll get some friends to watch the damned shop. I don't suppose you could get a message in with the spile. We didn't get to say goodbye. If we could just tell him that we, you know, love him even if we… maybe especially Mom… aren't very good at it. We all love him."  
  
"I wish I could, Ed. But --"  
  
"Right. Games rules." He takes a deep breath and says, "I'll send the spile." Another pause. "Bye, Haymitch."  
  
I turn to Harris and hand him the control key to my sponsor funds. "Keep an eye on my kids. Send them help if they get hurt. I have to talk to Plutarch."  
  
He nods, and I run up to the Capitol control desk. "Meeting with the Gamemakers," I say. "Now."  
  
This request must be honored. The attendant presses a button that rings somewhere up in the control room, then says, "Haymitch Abernathy of Twelve."  
  
"Send him up," Plutarch says.  
  
I take the elevator up to the penthouse, where the Games technicians work like the demented little ants they are, and the Gamemakers observe and direct.  
  
When I get out of the elevator, Plutarch motions me over to the elevated platform where the Gamemakers are gathered around a miniature holographic projection of the arena. I can see the various dots of light that represent the tributes, all tagged with their district numbers and their genders. One of Plutarch's underlings taps the District Five Female and an order goes out to the techs to do something to keep her interesting.  
  
"Was that necessary?" Plutarch asks.  
  
The younger man shrugs. "She doesn't have any allies. No one to talk to. Kind of boring if nothing happens. Should I go for the one from Six, too?"  
  
"Wait for the first one to work before you go for a second." Plutarch looks at me. "Newcomers. They need to learn."  
  
"I need a spile," I say.  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A spile. The kind of thing you use to get sap out of trees to make syrup. I told Ed Mellark to grab one for me, so --"  
  
Plutarch looks completely confused. "What kind of syrup?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What syrup comes from trees?"  
  
"Maple," I answer without thinking. "And it doesn't matter. I don't need syrup. I just need the tap for the trees. Ed should be on his way over to the production booth now. I need to get the money across."  
  
"An imported specialty item that will need to be flown to the supply hovercraft will be quite expensive," another Gamemaker says.  
  
"Money, I've got," I say. "All of my sponsors came through."  
  
The young woman scans my sponsor list ostentatiously and says, "Well, this should about cover an item like that. Right Plutarch?"  
  
Plutarch gives me a frustrated look -- I am not supposed to be ordering off script, but I have no idea how long he plans for this to go on -- then says, "Yes. We can do it for this. But it'll leave you broke."  
  
"I'm usually broke," I say, and don't mention that I'm sure I'll get more calls, and I have a moody teenage boy with a crush on Prim waiting in the wings to send something else... not to mention Plutarch's fake funds for anything that's already up there.  
  
"It'll also take a few hours."  
  
"Hours, I may be short on."  
  
Plutarch glowers at me, then says, "I need to confer with Mr. Abernathy about his request." He stands and gestures to a side room.  
  
I go in ahead of him, and hear the door slam.  
  
"You want me to go after toys from Twelve in the middle of this?" he says, loudly enough that I know the room is soundproof and unbugged.  
  
"Dying of thirst isn't a game," I say. "At least not on my side of the aisle."  
  
"I have water in the hovercraft."  
  
"Which leaves bottles, which may as well be a trail of breadcrumbs for Brutus." I sit down at a table. "You knew what was in the arena. Why didn't you have tools ready?"  
  
"Well, I... I assumed they would cut the trees."  
  
"You honestly had no idea what a spile was until I told you, did you?"  
  
"I still don't, Haymitch. Are we talking about something that could be a weapon?"  
  
"If you get close enough to jab it in someone's eye, I guess, but they'd do better to snap a branch off a tree."  
  
He narrows his eyes, then says, "Fine. But if you're passing messages, it's a pretty dangerous time for it."  
  
"No messages. I'm just trying to get them water."  
  
He looks at me suspiciously, then pulls a little handheld device out of his desk drawer and punches buttons in it, sending the purchase approval to Twelve. "Done," he says. "The site producer will take it from here. A hovercraft can get here in a few hours."  
  
I nod. "One more thing."  
  
He turns, and I see a flare of impatience in his eyes. "What?"  
  
"What happened to Cinna this morning?"  
  
"What do you mean?" He shakes his head, genuinely confused. "What happened?"  
  
"Portia said there was an accident, and he's dead. What happened?"  
  
"I have no idea. And at the moment, I'm in pretty delicate negotiations with certain people, and I don't have time to find out. It'll have to wait until after."  
  
"No one has done more than Cinna for this."  
  
"And he'd be the last one to want us to pull back now!" Plutarch presses his thumb on a scanner in the table, and another drawer pops open. He pulls out a sketchbook. "Cinna gave me this before the interviews yesterday. He knew _something_ might happen." He opens it to a picture of Katniss as the Mockingjay. It's stunning. "It's for her, when she takes over. And he wants me to make sure she has her preps. I have Fulvia on that now. He thought of a lot, Haymitch. And he wouldn't want us wasting time right now when there's no chance of changing anything."  
  
I can't argue. I hate that I can't argue. "What the hell are we turning into, Plutarch?"  
  
"An army," he answers. "Now get back to your tributes. I'll get them your little toy."  
  
I know a dismissal when I hear one, even from my own side, and I walk out. I think about the sketchbook, of Katniss, standing proud in her uniform. I know she'll love it. And I hate all of us for turning her into this.  
  
When I leave the elevator, the main broadcast has returned to Katniss, who's hunting for food and water both. She shoots an extremely ugly animal, then touches its nose and starts circling around its tree. Back at the camp that Finnick is building, Peeta and Mags are peeling some kind of nuts and trying to have a conversation. She has given up on trying to talk, because only Finnick understands her. Instead, she's gesturing to Peeta to continue a story he's telling about a party that his wrestling team had up in the park. He is describing the logs on the ground. Mags mimes a log with her hands, then looks up to see if she's hearing him right.  
  
"Yeah," he says. "And of course, I'm an idiot. I go up and stand on it at the top of the hill, and of course it just rolls over..."  
  
Mags makes a show of falling backward, then rolls her hands around each other to indicate falling down a hill. Peeta laughs and nods. She claps and laughs boisterously.  
  
"I half want to sponsor him," Toffy says when I come down. "Nice kid."  
  
Which about sums up Peeta's sponsors. None of them are gamblers. All of them are just like him.  
  
"Is Effie back yet?" I ask, sitting down. Harris is on my phone with a sponsor.  
  
"Haven't seen hide nor hair of her since she left," Toffy says. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"  
  
I nod. Paperwork in the Capitol can take a long time, but I still don't like it. She doesn't carry a personal communication device, so I can't just call, and I can't leave. I have a vision of Effie being dragged in for questioning, or arrested for passing messages she never knew she had passed. Will they ask her what Cinna needed me to read on the train?  
  
It's not a deep worry. I'm sure that Snow would have let me know by now. But I want her here. I don't want her anywhere that I can't reach her right now.  
  
I go through my sponsor papers, and as soon as Harris is off the line, I dial Aurelian's number. He answers right away. "Yeah?"  
  
"Haymitch Abernathy," I say. "I used your money. You won't see what they're getting until later, though. It'll take a little while to get there."  
  
"That's great! Will it help them with water?"  
  
"It'll get them what they need. Look, could I ask you a favor?"  
  
"Me? Really?"  
  
"I'm kind of trapped here," I say, trying to sound casual. "And I need to get in touch with Effie Trinket. She was supposed to be at the Justice Building, taking care of a few things. Could you find her and ask her to get back as soon as she can?"  
  
Aurelian agrees right away, sounding thrilled to have a job. It's the best I can do right now.  
  
The kids and Finnick and Mags have decided to use the forcefield to cook the rodent Katniss shot. I find this satisfying -- they can't be caught by surprise again, and have turned Plutarch's trick around on him.  
  
The Gamemakers' trick, I remind myself. Seneca Crane probably had as much to do with it, and Plutarch's on our side.  
  
I wonder about our side sometimes.  
  
This goes on for about half an hour, even though it's not exactly fascinating. People want to see all they can of this group. Finally, coverage moves to Johanna's group, which is camping about halfway up the slope from the beach to the forcefield. Johanna, unknowingly mimicking Katniss (she would stop immediately if she knew), has climbed a tree, and is looking for water on the underside of a leaf. She pulls the leaf, stares at it like it might reveal its potential toxicity if she threatens it enough, then drops it and watches it float to the ground.  
  
On the ground, Beetee has tied a band of fabric around his knife wound, and is trying to squeeze water out of mud. He's managed a thin trickle, which he gives to Wiress. Blight is sleeping.  
  
Johanna jumps down from one of the tree's lower branches and says, "I don't see anything but the saltwater. Can we desalinate?"  
  
"Do we have anything plastic or waterproof? We could make a rudimentary still by digging a hole and letting the sun heat it to condense the water and--"  
  
"That sounds like it'll take longer than we have," Johanna grumbles, and turns to Wiress. "Hey, Nuts, can you whip up something magical?"  
  
Wiress shakes her head. She is staring out at the beach between the trees.  
  
"Great," Johanna says. "Maybe Jack will send us something."  
  
Beetee gives her an irritated look. The wound has left his movements stiff, but it doesn't seem to be causing a lot of distress as long as they stay still. "Or maybe Haymitch or Toffy will send something to their tributes. They're our allies, aren't they?"  
  
"Yeah. But I have no idea where they are."  
  
Of course, this is the occasion for Claudius to put up a graphic showing that they are only about a quarter of a mile away. He's smiling when they cut back to the studio. "It seems our alliances may join up. That would be half of the remaining tributes in an alliance. What will happen in the endgame? Let's hear predictions on the street!"  
  
Again, the street interviews backfire. For twenty minutes, they try to gin up some kind of Games fever. Girls in fake braids are crying that Peeta almost died. A man who has two teenage daughters with him is just watching in shock. One of Enobaria's fans manages to come up with a hopeful start, that she's going to wipe out the other Careers and then hunt down everyone else, but he trails off, maybe realizing that she's badly outnumbered. A group of girls in short skirts and heavy make-up are wearing tee shirts with Finnick's face on them, and they seem excited that he saved Peeta and is helping Katniss, but when asked how he'll defeat them in the end, they just seem confused and sad. A solitary old man wants Mags to go in with her slingshot and "Kill that dirty bastard from District Two, just like you did those bad actors in your Games. I remember you, honey! You kick 'em where it hurts!"  
  
"Oh, how nice for Mags!"  
  
I look over my shoulder and see Effie. A wave of relief almost lifts me out of my chair. I have never been happier to have her in my line of vision. "Where the hell have you been?" I ask.  
  
"Oh, it's terrible," she says. "I signed the papers, but they say Portia has to be quarantined for two days before I can bring her to her own apartment. It's ridiculous. But that nice young man said you needed me here."  
  
"Well, yeah," I say. "I need you to stay." I catch sight of our reflection in a few dark screens. I look surly and she looks resigned. Whatever Harris has been seeing, I guess I'm missing it.  
  
"I'll have to go home to sleep..."  
  
"No. You won't. Stay here, Effie. You can sleep in the mentors' lounge."  
  
She looks at me oddly, then sits down beside me and answers the ringing phone. I give her a pat on the shoulder and return my attention to the Games.  
  
"Our tributes are certainly loved this year," Claudius says cheerfully when they cut back to him. "Let's see what's happening in the districts!"  
  
The next hour of coverage is spent visiting the home districts of the remaining tributes. In District One, Gloss and Cashmere's mother looks shell-shocked, and their father is speaking in a quiet monotone when asked about their chances. Friends are interviewed. Gloss's weeping girlfriend says she can't do without either one of them.  
  
In Two, there is the usual fierce gathering in the square, rooting for their tributes, or at least rooting against Katniss (they still hate her because of Clove and Cato). In Three, quiet groups of engineers are watching together, looking like people waiting to be executed. Not much is shown, and it isn't in the square, so I assume the rebels have taken the center of town.  
  
The report from Four is actively claustrophobic, conducted inside a small house. I am disturbed to see Annie there. She should have been on a boat and headed away from the shore by now. She doesn't talk. The reporter claims that the explosions we hear outside are firecrackers being set off in celebration of Finnick and Mags. Five is grim, Six is... unsurprised. They couldn't have been holding out much hope for Paulin, and I doubt they're wasting much worry on Berenice, either. They report from a paper mill in Seven. There is no one left from Eight or Nine. In Ten, Earl's grandchildren are interviewed on a ranch. They are sad to have lost "Aunty Kate." In Eleven, they interview only the Peacekeepers. I wonder if they're really in Eleven at all.  
  
In Twelve, they've herded the Mellarks into Katniss's house, and they're being interviewed along with the Everdeens in the kitchen, sitting around the fireplace. Peeta's brothers aren't there. Jonadab isn't shown, but they do cut to Ed in his store. He doesn't mention the spile, though he did say that he was sorry to miss the family interview, since he had a "special order" to put together. They talk to Delly Cartwright, who is comfortably tucked up against Ed's side. She says she's glad Peeta and Katniss have such nice people around them as Finnick and Mags, and she hopes Johanna gets the others there soon. Ed shows the reporters a painting Peeta did of the three Mellark boys as children. "Jonadab and I were idiots," he says. "Don't know how Peeta turned out decent."  
  
The reporters apologize profusely that they can't dig up Katniss's dear, handsome cousin, who is working in the mines, but they scare up Hazelle from somewhere. She is duly introduced as my "former housekeeper," though she is being interviewed in my extremely clean living room in front of a vase full of fresh flowers, and asked what she thinks I'm doing for them now.  
  
"If I know Haymitch, it will be something very clever," she says. "And Katniss can figure out what to do until it comes through. We love her, and we want her back. Peeta, too," she adds quickly.  
  
Effie looks at me during this, openly curious. I don't know what to tell her. Sitting here in the Capitol, Effie at my side, it seems inconceivable to me that I ever did sleep with Hazelle. She certainly never followed it up with requests for deep conversation and romantic dinners, either. I don't think I could answer Effie's unspoken questions about the arrangement if I tried.  
  
Claudius returns, now with historical experts explaining why last year's dual victory cannot be allowed to happen again. There are dire warnings about forgetting the Dark Days, and ancient footage from the fall of the Green Tower. Then he brings on some gamblers. The tributes must not be doing anything interesting. On my screen, Katniss and Peeta are just eating and talking with Finnick and Mags, though their voices are pretty raspy. It looks like Chaff and Earl have found some stones, and are playing checkers.  
  
They finally cut to the arena, where the tributes from Two have gotten a dinner big enough to share with their allies, apparently as a reward for slaughtering their friends at the Cornucopia.  
  
Then the anthem begins, and we see the line of fallen tributes.  
  
With so much happening, I'd set it aside, made myself play the Games. But now, they'll be shown for the last time. Paulin. Woof. Cecelia. Seeder.  
  
I try to watch, but I can't.  
  
I turn my chair around, and Effie puts her arm across my shoulders and says a lot of very comforting nothing. I squeeze her hand and wait for the music to end.  
  
"Oh, Haymitch, they're back," she says. "And there's a parachute!"  
  
I turn back to the screen. The parachute falls gently to the ground. Finnick suggests that Peeta can claim it, since he died earlier.  
  
They find the spile.  
  
Not one of them has the slightest idea what it is.  


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch gets his tributes through their water crisis, but the arena holds more dangers than he suspects.

**Chapter Twenty-One**  
They pass the spile around, staring at it dumbly. Peeta tries using it as a whistle, because apparently, he thinks I want him to attract the attention of everyone in the arena. Finnick sticks it on his finger and takes a few tentative jabs before deciding that it's probably not a weapon. Katniss (who, of all of them, ought to know) asks Mags if they can fish with it, then rolls it back and forth and stares at it, looking puzzled.  
  
"Come on, Sweetheart," I say. "You can do it."  
  
But she can't. She gives up in frustration and lies down, letting Peeta rub her back. He looks like he'd be happy to spend the rest of the Games doing just that. Finnick smiles. Mags, much more practical, goes back to the bowl of nuts and rodent meat she'd been eating.  
  
I get the book back out, figuring I'll have to send them water after all, then suddenly, I hear, "A spile!"  
  
I look up. Katniss has sat upright, and she's holding the spile triumphantly. Once she tells them what it is, it takes them about two seconds to realize the water is in the trees and they can get to it.  
  
Jack Anderson stands up at the District Seven table and yells, "Let's hear it for Haymitch!"  
  
I take a sarcastic bow as the other mentors hoot and holler, and start trying to figure out how to get spiles to their own tributes.  
  
Once they've managed to successfully tap a tree, coverage returns to Johanna, who is becoming desperate enough to try Beetee's idea for a desalinating still, though he says it's too late and the leaves she wants to use aren't going to provide a tight enough seal.  
  
"Do you need some sleep?" Effie asks me. "You're looking a little worn out."  
  
"Hey, not fair," Toffy says beside me. "The rest of our escorts left after the interviews!"  
  
I look around. I hadn't even noticed. I know that a lot of the current crop of escorts has been somewhat less involved in the Games than they once were, but there are usually at least a few in the Viewing Center on the first day. "Where are they?"  
  
Toffy shrugs. "Chaff made Veronica go home after the parade. Said he's been around long enough not to need coaching. I've had her out looking for sponsors."  
  
"You've all got lousy escorts," I say.  
  
"Nah, you've just got the best in the Games."  
  
Effie blushes. "Oh, no, I --"  
  
"I know I do," I say.   
  
She looks away shyly.  
  
Harris raises his eyebrows. "Well," he says, "the rest of us usually have district partners. So, Effie's… more like your district partner, right?"  
  
The only person I ever called my district partner really was Maysilee Donner, who was nothing at all like Effie, but I nod. It's closer than whatever Harris was thinking before. "That sound right to you, Effie?"  
  
She looks up briefly, and her eyes flutter over my face. "Why not?" she says. "Effie Trinket, District Twelve." With a fluttery smile, she turns to Toffy, "Anyway, we can all spell each other here, if anyone needs sleep. We're all allies now." She nods at the screen, then looks at me. "So, do you need rest?"  
  
"Effie, you've been up all day, too," I say.  
  
"Yes, but I got some sleep last night. I have a feeling you didn't."  
  
I try not to tell Effie things like that, but I can't argue. Katniss and Peeta have had food and water, Finnick has built them a shelter, and they have enough people to keep up a guard. I can't do anything for Johanna until she joins the alliance. I nod. "I could use a couple of hours, but you send someone for me if anything happens."  
  
She nods impatiently and answers the ringing phone. I go to the lounge.  
  
There are twelve curtained beds set up, and a long table piled with quick finger food. I grab a sandwich and a beer and eat at a dark little table in the corner. An attendant comes through the door shyly and hands me an envelope. "From the Gamemakers," she says.  
  
"Thanks," I tell her.  
  
She bites her lower lip, looks around anxiously, then says, "I'm supposed to not have favorites while I'm working, but I _love_ Peeta, and I just know you'll save him!" She scurries away without waiting for an answer to this declaration. I don't really have one, anyway.  
  
I go to one of the curtained beds, light the sign that says it's occupied, and crawl in, barely remembering to kick off my shoes. Before I drift off, I open Plutarch's note. It says, _You are reminded that messages to tributes are prohibited in the arena, even if the hour is late. Your tributes should be aware of the risks._  
  
Great. Plutarch wants me to tell Katniss what time it is. Or something. He seems to think I have magical powers to transmit information that he forgot to share with our allies. I have no idea what he needs, and I'm too tired to think it through.  
  
I throw the message out. I'm asleep before I can even pull up the covers.  
  
I dream in disconnected images. Katniss shooting at the sky. Digger laughing in the snow. Peeta playing with his niece. My mother coming home tired from the mines and still finding the energy to play games with Lacklen and me. _My clever little boy,_ she used to call me, especially if I'd figured out a way to fix something in our house, or to stretch the little bit of food we had, or to escape the elaborate traps Lacklen and I built for each other. I settle into a deeper dream of this, a pleasant one, for once, where I'm Rhona Abernathy's clever boy, and the worst thing that's happened is a pretty older girl named Hazelle making fun of me for reading poems. My mother tells me girls only tease boys they like. I know even then that this is a lie, but it's a kind lie, and I don't mind it.  
  
I'm sure that it would have turned into a nightmare, probably about the big, sturdy house I traded her life and Lacklen's and Digger's for, but before that happens, someone rips open the curtains of my bed. I take a swing, and it's lucky that I don't have my knife, because I connect with Toffy Taggart's neck.  
  
"Jack Anderson said to get you," he says, pulling away and rubbing the spot I hit. "Blight's dead. Blood rain. It's moving towards your team."  
  
Blight's dead. Just like that. Blight. Ollie Hedge, who once saved Gia Pepper's life, who snuck in a donation toward Finnick's trident by pretending to buy a fish. Dead. Blood rain. They once doused him in blood to try and scare up Gia's hiding place. He once made a rash and dangerous alliance with the out-district raiders. He thinks I'm an idiot about Effie.   
  
Blight's dead.  
  
I rub my eyes and sit up. "Right. Thanks. And sorry about..." I gesture at his neck.  
  
He shrugs. "I should know better than surprising a victor. I broke my sister's cheekbone the first time she woke me up after I got home." With that, he shoves me out of the way and takes over the bed.  
  
I go back out to the Viewing Center. On screen, Johanna is brushing furiously at her face, but it's useless. She's drenched in gore. The scene is shot with heat sensors, giving everything a surreal look. Wiress is clinging to Beetee, who is unconscious. Jack grabs me. "Can you think of anything?" he asks.  
  
I look at it and shake my head. "Not a thing. Is it drowning them? What happened to Blight?"  
  
"He ran into the forcefield to get away from it. It's not hurting them!"  
  
I don't answer this, because Jack needs to get it out of his system, but of course, the point of something like that isn't to directly hurt anyone. When you're being showered with blood, atavistic instinct takes over. Mind games. Jack knows it. I know it.  
  
Suddenly, the rain stops. It doesn't dribble out, the way real rain does. It just stops. There is one final crash as the last of it falls to the ground, and then it is over. The heat sensor cameras go off and the scene is lit by the bright moonlight. Johanna looks around, her eyes round and very white in her red-stained face.  
  
The coverage goes to Katniss, who is on guard at the camp. She looks up and frowns at something, then tenses and wrinkles her nose. I see what looks like a light ground fog rolling in, but I don't for a second imagine that it's just a mist. Not in the arena. Not when the rain that fell was blood.  
  
I ignored Plutarch's instruction to send them a warning. I don't know what warning I could have sent, but they're all sleeping now, and whatever this is, it's creeping up.  
  
Katniss's eyes go wide, and the camera focuses on her hand, where the fog has brushed. It's red, and blisters are rising.  
  
She doesn't need any help from me. She makes a snap decision and runs to Finnick first -- it makes sense, and if they get out of whatever this is, I'm sending her a present. Mags doesn't hear well and Peeta is still groggy from the afternoon, but Finnick is sharp and ready.  
  
"Ah," Claudius says. "Looks like another late night surprise. Will Katniss Everdeen and Finnick Odair be able to rouse their companions?"  
  
They're certainly giving it a try. Finnick gathers Mags in his arms and picks her up. Katniss yanks Peeta to his feet and pulls him along.  
  
"What the hell _is_ that?" Harris asks.  
  
"Let's hope they move more quickly," Claudius says. "This fog is laced with nerve agents... ah, yes, we can see here, where Peeta Mellark has fallen, his facial muscles seem to be affected... Finnick Odair is blistering... Katniss Everdeen seems lame in one leg... Is this the end of our power alliance?"  
  
"Will someone shut him up?" Harris Greaves whispers. "Please."  
  
No one does. Blood rain. Nerve gas. This arena isn't just set up for the tributes to kill each other. All arenas have some Gamemaker traps, but this one is one big trap. Plutarch told us it was deadly.  
  
I wonder again when he really knew who the tributes would be. This thing isn't set up for scared teenagers who have no loyalties to each other. It's set up to kill trained killers, and to do it no matter _what_ they do.  
  
We watch them stumbling through the woods. Katniss could escape the fog line easily by climbing, but she's trying to help Peeta. Finnick is carrying Mags, but I can see him flagging. He comes back to help Katniss haul Peeta, but it's no good. "I'll have to carry him," he says. "Can you take Mags?"  
  
Effie grabs my hand. "Haymitch, Katniss isn't walking properly. And she's not that strong."  
  
"I know," I say, watching, unable to help as Katniss stumbles through the jungle, trying valiantly to carry Mags. They're heading for the beach, but Katniss is beginning to crumble, no matter how easy Mags tries to make it for her. Finnick runs back with Peeta on his back.  
  
Katniss, looking ashamed, says, "It's no use. Can you take them both? I'll catch up."  
  
But Finnick can't. His arms are starting to twitch from the gas. It's all he can do to hold on to Peeta. I see Peeta start to tell him to put him down, but instead Finnick says, "I'm sorry, Mags. I can't do it."  
  
Mags smiles and gives him a kiss, then looks fondly at Katniss and Peeta.  
  
Then walks directly into the gas.  
  
The coverage returns to Claudius, who looks utterly baffled. "This is... Mags Donovan must have been affected mentally by the nerve gas... she... forgot... or didn't realize..."  
  
But nothing he says can erase what the entire nation has just seen: One tribute has sacrificed her life, of her own free will, to give others the chance to escape.  
  
When they return, he does his best to portray that escape as somehow cold -- the narration implies that Finnick and Katniss have "abandoned" Mags to the fog -- but he can't do it. They are struggling away from the fog, lurching through the woods, finally stumbling down a slight slope. Finnick falls and Peeta falls on top of him. Katniss crawls over to them and looks up, and I can see that she's waiting to be overtaken.  
  
But here, the camera has pulled back. I see it a second before Katniss does, the way the fog stops in a line, rising up into the night. They've somehow made it behind its reach, or maybe each disaster is only supposed to claim one tribute (after all, they wouldn't want to skimp on the murders by murdering everyone remotely). Maybe Plutarch has just decided to turn it off for reasons of his own. Whatever the reason, although Katniss, Peeta, and Finnick are all helpless, the fog stops and is pulled up into the sky. Katniss makes a noise. Peeta rolls off of Finnick and raises his arm weakly at the trees, where some kind of animal -- undoubtedly a mutt, though it's quiescent now -- is waiting. Katniss nods. If the animals aren't running, the fog is definitely over.  
  
The three of them all manage to crawl down to the beach. I'm not sure why. It's open, and a great place for the careers to ambush them, but I guess they're acting on impulse. Finnick's would be to reach water. Katniss's is to protect Peeta. Peeta? I can't always read him as well, but my guess is that, after that escape, he's decided to go with Finnick's plan.  
  
Unfortunately, Finnick doesn't make it. He collapses before he reaches the water, and Claudius begins a long and gleeful explanation of just what the poison is doing to their bodies. They're apparently in pain, unable to move a lot of muscles, dealing with sensory failures. "But there's a secret!" he says, as Katniss suddenly yelps.  
  
The water has lapped up against her hand, and she acts like it's acid, pulling away as quickly as she can.  
  
Then she frowns and puts her hand back in.  
  
"And Katniss Everdeen may squeak through again!" Claudius says. "The poison is soluble in salt water, and, if she has the courage to go under, she can purge herself of its effects!"  
  
Peeta notices her actions and follows suit. I can see the gas escaping harmlessly into the sky as they get stronger.  
  
The camera focuses for a minute on Finnick, who's not looking good at all. Instead of going into the water when it burned him, he's crawled away, and I think again of Mags, going into the fog. Since Finnick's mother was jailed, Mags has taken care of him, kept him out of as much trouble as she could, defended him whenever possible. He is curled in on himself, not crying, but in pain, and I'm guessing it's not just from the chemical burns.  
  
"Well," Claudius announces smugly, "it looks like the star-crossed lovers may be free of their convenient alliance with District Four. As Everdeen and Mellark purge themselves, Finnick Odair's vital signs are…"  
  
His voice trails off as Katniss and Peeta, stronger now, each take one of Finnick's arms. They pull him to the water. He fights them as the first pain hits, but they speak to him quietly and gently, purging him of the poison with handfuls of water, cleaning him and soothing him as he comes back to life. There's something almost sacred about the action. Maybe Plutarch is doing it deliberately, or maybe it's coincidence, but the angle is very much like the shots of Katniss last year, cleaning the mud from Peeta's wounds, bringing him out of the dark and into her circle. Now, together, they're bringing Finnick into a kind of surreal silver moonlight that makes all three of them seem to glow.  
  
No one seems to know what to make of this. Claudius is silent -- maybe he's hoping it's all a feint for an attempted drowning -- and the other victors in the room with me are taken aback. It's not by the visual callback, either, I can tell. It's just by watching what they're doing.  
  
For me, it's just Katniss being Katniss and Peeta being Peeta, but I guess I've forgotten over the last year exactly how amazing that can be.  
  
As the last of the poison leeches out of Finnick's body, he dives into the water, doing something that's less like swimming than dancing. The kids watch him, leaning against each other with their hands linked. So far, no one has commented on the fact that everyone is down to underwear, their uniforms melted away by the gas. I think about sending them some clothes, and probably will if it goes on much longer (I may tap Julian Day for it, since he gave me such an open-ended offer), but at the moment, I don't have enough money, and judging by the sores from the gas, I'll have to spend whatever I get next on medicine, unless I lean on Plutarch's generosity.  
  
I wonder whose head will roll for leaving the coverage on them for this. The audience probably loves it, but the point of the Games is not for tributes to rescue and heal each other. If it _is_ Plutarch's call, he'd lose his job, but then, he doesn't exactly intend to be back for an encore next year, anyway. I wonder how he'll justify it if they call him out.   
  
Claudius returns with the map of the arena. "Our power alliance has rejuvenated itself in the water, but they have also come into the territory of another tribute." The three lights that represent Katniss, Peeta, and Finnick are now joined by a fourth, alone in the woods.  
  
Or not alone, as the case happens to be. Berenice Morrow is awake, but the creatures around her are sleeping. They are orange-furred monkeys with long claws and fangs, the same kind of animal Peeta noticed earlier. She is petting one of them like a kitten.  
  
"Berenice Morrow of District Six," Claudius says. "She's been in this part of the arena since the battle at the Cornucopia, and has been keeping herself warm with these genetically engineered primates. You'll recall that in her Games -- the Fifty-Second -- she took an injury from a muttation..."  
  
He breaks away to show Berenice, not terribly pretty, but not yet emaciated from years of morphling abuse, fighting with three spider mutts that dropped from the trees onto her. She rips one apart with her hands, tearing out its fangs, but another bites her before she can crush it against a tree. She stabs the last with a branch before passing out. Claudius narrates that she was sent medicine (Mags was her mentor, and I helped her get it, and I guess that puts some of what happened with her morphling problem later on me), then cuts to the end of her Games, where she uses a fang from the dead spider to stab her last opponent in the throat.  
  
"She's been overlooked in the odds," Claudius tells us breathlessly, "but like everyone in the arena, she is a victor. She is not to be ignored here."  
  
He then proceeds to ignore her and go back to Peeta, who offers to get water. Katniss watches him, then suddenly goes pale. She grabs Finnick and looks at the trees.  
  
The orange monkeys are awake now. They're lining the trees near the beach, heavy on the branches, their eyes avid in the moonlight. Berenice has followed them. Claudius tries to portray this as using them to track her prey, but I don't imagine too many people believe it, as she seems more like she's looking for a runaway puppy, even without knowing that she's part of the alliance, whether Katniss knows it or not. Berenice has always been there, lurking in the shadows. I have a feeling that she means to join the fight here.  
  
At least I hope that's her intention.  
  
Katniss and Finnick quietly arm themselves, and Katniss tries to alert Peeta to the danger without startling the animals. It seems to be working, until Peeta inadvertently looks up, and all hell breaks loose.  
  
The monkeys attack in a pack, screeching and biting. Finnick and Katniss rush in and Peeta draws his knife. They fight well together, smoothly maneuvering to cover each other. Katniss takes down a monkey with each shot. Finnick spears them with his trident. Peeta is vicious with his knife when he has to be (Claudius inevitably reminds people of Peeta's expert knife work last year, defeating Clove at the Cornucopia and killing the District Eight girl with a single cut... that she was begging him to do it is left out).  
  
But there are too many mutts. These are obviously designed to swarm onto enemies, overpower them with sheer numbers. Again, I wonder what in the hell Plutarch was thinking. Maybe he could have planned it, but it strikes me that he could also have saved a few horrors for later, instead of sending them chasing after Katniss every other minute. The only think I can think of is that he's trying to show her performing heroic feats, and if I find out that's his reasoning, I'll deck him.  
  
"They need to start backing out of the woods," Harris hisses beside me. "Finnick could fling them into the water from the beach."  
  
I'm sure this is very good advice, but not exactly practical. They're surrounded. If they break up their fighting formation, the monkeys will swarm in on whichever they think is weakest.  
  
Claudius comes up on half the screen, now hosting the president of the Muttation Appreciation Society -- a regular guest at the Games, and not a bad guy if you ignore his weird interests -- who tells us about the base animal, an extinct primate called an orangutan ("our closest cousin in the animal world, and very smart!"), then talks about the apparent mutations the Gamemakers have made. He is very enthusiastic about this particular mutt, and hopes the Capitol will have some in the Mutt Gardens after the Games. Claudius corrects him, saying that the proper name of the Mutt Gardens is the "Panem Allozooligical Gardens," which is conveniently located just beyond the city center, and admission is half-price during the Games. The M.A.S., we are reminded, will be there to conduct educational tours.  
  
During this fascinating segment, Katniss, Peeta, and Finnick have been fighting for their lives, but it's all so repetitive, really -- slash, stab, shoot, repeat -- that there was apparently no point in commentating on it. Katniss reaches for an arrow and finds her quiver empty. Peeta has her second quiver.  
  
For the first time since I've seen them working together, they miss a step. Peeta reaches around to slide the quiver from his shoulder, and as soon as he does, one of the monkeys leaps at him, claws extended, mouth open to reveal huge, sharp fangs.  
  
Katniss screams and runs for him, but she won't make it. There's no way she'll make it.  
  
For the second time in twenty-four hours, I'm sure that Peeta is going to die, but Berenice launches herself through the pack of mutts, howling fiercely, throwing herself between the leaping monkey and Peeta.  
  
I remember Lyme saying that Berenice loves Peeta's paintings, that she wants to protect him, even above her protection of Katniss. I remember seeing her on a little screen, painting herself with flowers while Peeta helped in the training center, and I realize that she has forgotten entirely about the rebellion, about fighting, about the possibility of getting out of the arena.  
  
Berenice may or may not be clear of morphling at the moment, but it damaged her beyond repair years ago, and I'd guess that all that's going through her mind right now is protecting the artist whose work managed to make it through to her after all of these years. She opens her arms and grabs the mutt out of the air, letting it bowl her to the ground. It sinks its teeth into her chest.  
  
She sinks down with a strangely peaceful expression on her face.  
  
Peeta rushes onto the mutt, stabbing it over and over, pulling it off of Berenice and yelling as crazily as I've ever seen Katniss yell, daring the mutts to come after him. But they've made their kill. Their job is done (for now). Katniss tells him to get Berenice out of the woods. She and Finnick cover him, but there's no point to it. The monkeys are gone. Their job is finished.  
  
The main coverage cuts away to show Johanna and Wiress trying to move Beetee down the beach. On my screen and Harris's, I can see that Finnick has gone to guard against the return of the mutts. Katniss and Peeta stay with the dying woman. Katniss holds her hand. Peeta speaks to her softly about painting. She listens to him, rapt, her eyes wide with adoration as he strokes her hair.  
  
Claudius doesn't acknowledge it on the public broadcast at all, and when it goes back to him in the studio, he claims that Berenice was brain-damaged from morphling abuse and possibly suicidal, though of course suicide is explicitly forbidden in the arena. He shows her arrest record in District Six, and headlines about her repeated admissions to a rehabilitation hospital. He calls in a doctor to explain how long-term morphling abuse might have caused permanent damage that might have led to such a bizarre, self-negating action as trying to soothe an agitated mutt.  
  
"Trying to soothe the monkey?" Lyme says behind me. "That's what he's going with?"  
  
I look over my shoulder. "Looks like."  
  
Effie smiles and says, "But everyone could see she was really trying to help Peeta. What a shame that they're not showing his goodbye."  
  
"I'm glad," Lyme says. "Let her have a little privacy at the end." She sits down behind me. Now that both of her tributes are gone, all there is for her to do is wait on the sidelines with the other mentors or go home, if she's allowed to.  
  
Berenice's paintings come up, starting with shocking abstracts after the Games, eventually winding down to childish painted flowers (he does not show that her last act in life is painting one of these flowers on Peeta's cheek with her own blood). This is contrasted with Peeta's work, though his "descent" from the literal painting of the Games to the strange, gray picture of Katniss is suggested to indicate that he might also have problems.  
  
"He certainly is talented," Lyme says.  
  
I nod. "I'm sorry about Berenice."  
  
"You knew her better than I did. I always stayed away. Wish I'd stayed away this time."  
  
"Well, I'm glad you're here," Effie says. "I'm sure it meant a lot to Berenice and Paulin to have someone so kind looking after them here."  
  
Lyme looks at her coolly, much as Hazelle did back in District Twelve, then nods. "I need to go for a walk," she says. "Clear my head." She stands up, sways, then says, "Or maybe I'll go home. They're not requiring me to stay. Maybe it's time to go home."  
  
"You should stay," Harris says. "You never know what will happen." He looks at her over Effie's head, making so much effort to project a thought that he may as well be shouting, _We're being picked up and taken away._  
  
She smiles faintly, obviously knowing exactly what he means, and says, "No. I have a feeling I'm needed in District Two. Maybe I'll see you both again next year. You never know." She turns and goes over to Philo, at the District Three table. He nods to Jack, and they go to the lounge to talk.  
  
Effie frowns. "Well, that's too bad. She seemed quite lovely."   
  
Katniss lies down beside Peeta, who puts a sleepy arm around her. Finnick goes to the edge of the sea, supposedly on guard duty. As soon as he hears Katniss start snoring, he buries his face in his hands and cries for Mags.  
  
The shot goes back to Johanna, who's finally given up near the edge of the woods, and is leaning against a tree to keep a guard. Wiress and Beetee are asleep on the ground. In the Career camp, Brutus is up and moving around, tossing a spear at the nearest tree. Faraday Sykes has escaped whatever the Gamemakers sent at her while I was up talking to Plutarch, and is sleeping high in the branches of a tree. Chaff is asleep while Earl sits on a rock and looks at his district token, which seems to be a badly made clay bracelet, with names painted on it in a childish hand. He traces each name thoughtfully.  
  
The arena is quiet, and gentle music plays over pictures of the fallen tributes, all from their original tribute parades. I can't watch it. I know I can't. But I can't look away. The best I can do is turn off my mind and not let myself see it. If I let myself start feeling this, I'll be useless. And, as likely as not, drunk. I'm pretty sure I can beat the remnants of Valentine's detoxers if I hit the serious booze hard enough, and when Seeder's picture comes up, impossibly young and lovely, it's pretty much all I want to do.  
  
We return to the studio.  
  
"It's the end of day one," Claudius says. "Ten tributes have fallen since the Games began, and this year's arena promises much more excitement before the end. Tune in at six in the morning to watch live, and don't forget tomorrow's mandatory viewing, which starts at four o'clock in the afternoon, with recaps of anything that happens in the morning. Now, stay tuned for Bellona Baynes in the premiere televised performance of last winter's musical theater sensation, _Star-Crossed_!"  
  
"Tell me that's not what I think it is," I tell Effie, remembering that someone mentioned a Games musical.  
  
She gives me an embarrassed little smile and says, "Well, it's actually quite tasteful. I saw it on opening night. The number where she sings to Rue is quite wonderful."  
  
I rub my head. Of course it is.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Games continue, from the bizarre to the terrifying, and Haymitch meets with the other rebels to talk about the escape.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**  
In the arena, the kids are exhausted, and they're sleeping easily on Finnick's watch, but I'm too anxious to go back to sleep, even if it is after three o'clock in the morning. Effie's eyes are slipping shut on their own, so I send her back to the beds. She gives my hair an absent tousle as she goes.  
  
I stay tuned until three-thirty, when a breathless announcer in a glittery dress takes us to the red carpet premiere -- taped two months ago -- of _Star-Crossed_ , a new musical by Julian Day. The singer is interviewed. He smiles awkwardly, and thanks several people -- including, of all people, Fulvia Cardew -- for their help in taking his vision to the stage. This segues to a little history of his career (which is all of five years long, having started when he was ten), with increasingly good reviews of music that sounds the same to me from beginning to end.  
  
There's a brief recap of the most romantic moments of the Seventy-Fourth Games, and a strange and garbled version of Ruth and Danny's history. "We learned of the great lost love between Katniss Everdeen's mother and Peeta Mellark's father!" the announcer says breathlessly, juxtaposed with a baffled expression on Ruth's face as she looks at something off camera (possibly one of the production assistants; I think it was when they were talking to her about how Katniss needed to treat Peeta's wounds) and a pinched expression on Danny's… I'm guessing that he's dealing with the fallout from Mir. They stop short of suggesting that Prim is Danny's child, but they do stress that there's a "quaint" phenotypical difference between the town and the Seam.  
  
They mention the mine explosion that killed Glen, but he doesn't even get a name. My own history since the Quell is summarized as "Abernathy's tragic descent into alcoholism," and District Twelve itself is presented as a drab and depressing place, deprived of all the privileges of the Capitol. But under it is deep warmth, and, we are assured, it is about to change everything. I have no idea what they mean by that, unless the announcers are rebels, in which case, I hope Snow has gone to bed early.  
  
This fades to black at around for in the morning, and the single light onstage in one of the Capitol's larger theaters, while the overture plays for five minutes. I'll give it this -- the music is already better than the Julian Day music that was playing during the introductory material. The light gets brighter to show "sunrise" on reaping day, and soon, they're in a full cast number that seems to be called "Life in District Twelve," which is hard to reconcile with the decent overture. We see the Mellarks baking for poor orphan children, and Katniss and Gale distributing food (no mention is made of the inevitable time in the stocks for illegal distribution), and various other townspeople crooning saccharine sentiments about life in a small town where everyone takes care of everyone. I am conspicuously absent, not that I mind.  
  
It's just terrible, and it gets worse when a little blond girl comes on stage, picking flowers.  
  
The phone rings. I am not surprised to find Prim on the other end -- this is a Games business line, so calls to it can always go through -- embarrassed as only a girl of thirteen can be. It's got to be about six in the morning there -- it's just past four here -- but she's definitely been up for a while… if not all night.  
  
"Haymitch! Can't they stop playing this?"  
  
"Sorry, Sweetheart," I say. On screen, the actress is dancing through a flower-strewn meadow, on her way to help a sick old woman, singing about her deep love for her beautiful, impoverished home. I wait to see if there is a wolf in the offing somewhere, but he seems to be absent (at least until the upcoming Reaping scene, I suppose, where the part will be played by whoever's playing Effie). "Capitol entertainment is one thing I can't explain. Or control."  
  
I hear someone say something indistinctly in the background, and Prim snorts with laughter. "Ed Mellark says that girl doesn't even look like she farts properly."  
  
In the background, I hear Ruth yell, "Primrose!"  
  
"Sorry, Mom!" she calls back, then whispers, "Well, she doesn't. Ed says he doesn't want to see it when Peeta starts walking on the river or whatever he's going to do."  
  
"Ed's over there?" I ask.  
  
"He crashed here last night. They wanted to do all the interviews together, in case anything… you know, anything happened. Mr. and Mrs. Mellark went home after, and Jona and Sarey, but Ed and Delly stayed with me while… the fog and the monkeys. I'm sorry about your friends. Those ladies were your friends, weren't they?"   
  
I don't want to get into it on the bugged phone, so I just say, "Yeah. They were. Thanks."  
  
Prim draws in a breath with a hiss, then says, "Anyway, Ed slept on the couch. I can't sleep and I woke him up with the television, and Delly's in Katniss's room. I don't think Katniss would mind." She breathes rapidly for a few seconds. "Are they okay, Haymitch?"  
  
"As okay as they can be, honey."  
  
I know that Prim isn't really on the phone with me to watch television together, or complain about the musical. She's worried about her sister, and she should be.  
  
But she's apparently decided that having someone here to talk to is the best way to get through it. She makes an injured sound. "Who _wrote_ this, Haymitch? What am I supposed to be singing?"  
  
"About the rustic beauty of life in District Twelve, as far as I can tell."  
  
"And who wrote it? Haymitch, it says Julian Day, but he was so _nice_ to me last year!"  
  
"Oh, right, that one. He's sponsoring your sister and made sure to tell me to say hello to you."  
  
Silence.  
  
Then, "Oh... _flowers_."  
  
"Flowers?"  
  
"Flowers! She's dancing in flowers." Her voice becomes actively pained. "Haymitch, I think they're supposed to be _primroses_."  
  
I laugh.  
  
"You just wait! You're not on yet. You wait until _you're_ dancing around up there. I bet you have to sing something sappy about how you never should have started drinking, and it's all so painful." She makes a disgusted sound, and I can almost see her wrinkling her nose. "I want bees to come out and sting her. Or, better yet, mosquitoes. Everyone takes bees seriously. I want her to be itchy and swollen up, and scratching in places Mom would yell at me for."  
  
I laugh. "Right there with you. Though I doubt the actress would appreciate it."  
  
"Oh, I don't mean for real to do that to that poor girl. It's not her fault. Do people really see me like that, Haymitch? Like I'm... Oh... I'm dancing with a butterfly! I'm _dancing with a butterfly!_ "  
  
"On the plus side, this has to be almost over. You've had time to dance the whole length of the Seam and most of the way back."  
  
"A _butterfly,_ Haymitch. A giant one."  
  
"I see it, honey."  
  
She's quiet for a little bit, though I can hear occasional whimpers as the dance moves through its climax. When the character starts singing again -- "Here in my home... I never will roam..." -- the real Prim makes a strangled, screaming sound. "I'd _love_ to roam. Everyone wants to roam. Why wouldn't I ever want to see anything but Twelve? This whole song doesn't even make sense. You tell Julian that he better fix that."  
  
"Since when did I become the official Everdeen message bearer to the various smitten boys in your lives?"  
  
"No one is _smitten._ "  
  
On the screen, her character twirls, and flowers bloom at her feet while little birdies twitter in the trees. This, at least, is the climax of the number, and she disappears into the sick old woman's house.  
  
I feel a tap on my shoulder, and a Capitol attendant says, "The phones aren't for personal calls, and you know it."  
  
I gesture that I understand, and tell Prim that she should get some sleep anyway. She makes a frustrated sound of some sort, then hangs up.  
  
I hang up, and momentarily want to be there at the Everdeens', no Games going on, just watching this insane musical and laughing about the butterfly. I doubt Katniss will be in a laughing mood when we pull her out of the arena, so I probably won't even tell her about it, but I imagine her into the scene, cuddled up with Peeta, groaning elaborately at Bellona Baynes's overdone iciness while Peeta cringes at the sappy ballad his actor has just entered singing, as he is the first to arrive for the Reaping and he "has a feeling" that it's him and just wants to "love that one girl" before he dies.  
  
They'd hate it. I hate it, too, but I want them here with me, so we can hate it together. Johanna and Finnick and Mags and Seeder and Chaff, too. Hell, Berenice can come. Peeta'd want her there. She'll be as sober as she can be, and she can finger paint the television. I decide to stop before I imagine us into breaking the overcrowding codes. I'm sure Thread has ways to control imaginary crowds.  
  
The music picks up, and the raucous Reaping scene begins with a duet between Effie and me, as she scolds me for being a drunk, and tells me there's more to me, and I should know it, and I tell her to stop nagging, because a drunk is all I am. Prim's prediction turns out to be prescient on this count, and I feel her embarrassment. It ends with a balletic dive from the stage. This gets sarcastic applause from the mentors in One and Two. Toffy, who's managed to drag himself out of bed somehow (Harris and Jack have both gone in), rolls his eyes.  
  
I go to get something to eat, but as I pass the lift, the door opens, and Plutarch Heavensbee looks out at me. He nods into the elevator, and I go in with him. We go back up to the penthouse. The worker ant techs have changed shifts, but they don't look any different. Other than Plutarch, the Gamemakers aren't there.  
  
"Enjoying the show?" Plutarch asks. " _Star-Crossed,_ I mean. It was quite a sensation. Fulvia had a hand in it."  
  
"Never saw anything like that butterfly dance back in District Twelve," I say.  
  
He puffs up. "Yes, that was my nephew's choreography. And the music for the whole thing was written by young Julian Day, though Fulvia adjusted the lyrics a bit, to fit the images we want to project."  
  
"How do you mean?"  
  
"Well, among other things, he seems to have envisioned Primrose as some kind of comic relief, instead of the healer most of the country sees her as. She was making jokes every other minute. Also, he wanted to have her be frightened. The original opening number was a nightmare sequence, if you can imagine it."  
  
"Sounds like the way things are."  
  
He gives me an irritated squint. "District Twelve is the seat of the rebellion, and Katniss herself is the symbol of it. We need people to see both as brave and serious."   
  
"Is that why she added the crap about me and Effie and the drinking?"  
  
"No, that was native to the original libretto, and there are some of your friends who consider it native to your life. I believe Day lifted it from an interview with Finnick Odair, when he'd been sidetracked into talking about you." If Finnick weren't in mortal danger, I'd probably consider killing him, if this is true. "Those who are sympathetic to you imagine that you drink because you're miserable, instead of because you're a drunk. It helps us if they at least see you as sympathetic, so Fulvia left it alone." He purses his lips, clearly annoyed. "Julian was very taken with District Twelve, as I understand it." He looks like this is something he will never particularly understand. "We need to talk in my office." He opens the door and practically pushes me in. Jack Anderson is in a chair, snoring. Harris is making a superhuman effort to keep his eyes open, and the District Three stylist, Nerilla, is curled up under the window.  
  
"One more," Plutarch says and disappears.  
  
"One more?"  
  
"Toffy," Harris says, and yawns. "Guess he'll just order him up here. He can do that."  
  
Sure enough, five minutes later, Toffy is marched in. Plutarch calls for a pot of coffee.  
  
"Don't you need to be babysitting your arena?" Jack asks. "It might start raining blood on my tributes, or gassing Harris's."  
  
"They're going to have to figure the arena out," Plutarch says brusquely. "It's a relatively simple design, and I believe Wiress already has it, though she seems to have trouble making herself understood without Beetee fully conscious. Once they figure it out, they'll have no problem avoiding the traps until the hovercraft arrives."  
  
"Which is _when_ , exactly?" Toffy asks.  
  
"They're going full out. I expect that they'll be able to get in on the third day of the Games."  
  
I force myself not to try and strangle him. "You _expect_?"  
  
"I wondered why no one had asked me about the arena before our meeting," Plutarch says. "Apparently, some false intelligence was floating around about the South Seas, and it made its way through the spy network to their strategic command. Luckily, our friends weren't foolish enough to go in without surveillance, and they found half of the Panem Navy patrolling the coordinates that had been leaked."  
  
"Panem has a Navy?" Harris asks, and I can almost see the wheels in his head turning. I think in District Four, they assumed that, if they got past the boundary mines, they'd be clear in the ocean.  
  
Plutarch looks chagrined. "Well... let's say that half the Navy is not a particularly dire threat, unless you're trying to do something sneaky. The point is, they were testing for a leak. They'd have found one if a commander called Boggs had not been particularly alert. That said, the rescue craft is significantly off course."  
  
I put my hand to my head. Of course. That short a flight, the damned arena is probably closer to the Capitol than it is to anywhere else. They build the arenas thinking of potential tourists these days. I can't believe I swallowed the false intelligence. After Jo's arena, I doubt they even considered traveling again. "And let me guess," I say. "It's well defended against out-district elements."  
  
"Of course it is." Plutarch sighs. "Now, before we are further derailed, we have a fairly serious problem. I was able to work with Beetee to get electrical equipment into the arena for him, but they will have to time it carefully. I'd initially worked with Seeder and Cecelia on the timing, and arranged to send them particular items to let them know the schedule."  
  
This sinks in, and I grimace. "Perfect." I shake my head. "I understand that you couldn't tell _me_ much this year, not with the cameras running, but are you telling me that you didn't manage to tell _them_?"  
  
"Given your choices regarding the information given to the Mockingjay, I can't see where your moral high ground is." He sighs. "At any rate, we will need to communicate with them. We need to tell them which day, and whether they will be lifted at noon or midnight."  
  
"Why noon or midnight?"  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" Plutarch asks, and doesn’t clarify. I hope Beetee has this piece of information. "So we need to send something to suggest how many days away the rescue is, and then which hour it will be at. It can't be anything that looks suspicious. Haymitch, you've always had success at sending Katniss Everdeen messages…"  
  
"I sent her messages that she could read because she knew what she was looking for. Thanks to someone deciding I could tell her either everything or nothing at all, she has no idea that she's looking for a rescue."  
  
"Could you use the same tactics with Finnick and Beetee? They're both aware of the endgame."  
  
I'm about to start arguing, mostly for the sake of arguing, but I think it may be possible, at least with Finnick. Beetee is hopeless about deviating from his plans, once he's made them. They're going to have to meet up soon, anyway. "Let me think," I say.  
  
The others start to get details about the rescue, and about our own departure from the Capitol. I have some impression that Katniss's preps are brought up, but I don't know for sure. I comb through my brains for anything that would make sense to Finnick, and that we can get our hands on. I think about watches, but that would be too obvious, and I've never seen one in the book. No calendars. They might believe me sending a book as a gag gift, but since I couldn't touch it, I couldn't guarantee a message would get through.  
  
I glance over at Jack, who looks back blankly. He's got his notebook open, but all he's doing is doodling mockingjays on it. His pen shifts, and he draws a prettily curled feather.  
  
Feather.  
  
I think of feathers, drawn along the edges of bits of paper, collected up to be brought back to Danny.  
  
Bread recipes. One for each district.  
  
It's not much, but maybe, if they know we're trying for a message, they'll get it.  
  
"Bread," I say.  
  
Plutarch stops talking. "What?"  
  
"Bread. District Three has little bites that you break off of it. Send twelve or twenty-four. Third day, too."  
  
"Will they even think to look at that?" Plutarch asks. "I mean… bread. It's a common arena gift."  
  
"Send Finnick a loaf tomorrow morning. See if he takes a good look at it. If he doesn’t, I'll think of something else."  
  
This is a half-baked plan -- so to speak -- that could go wrong a hundred ways, not the least of which would be that none of them can really be expected to figure it out. "Wouldn't it make more sense to code messages with gifts? Don't you have _anyone_ on the supply ship?"  
  
"I have two. But gifts go through a lot of hands, Haymitch."  
  
I bite my lip. "District Four bread has seaweed in it. There are… swirls and things on the crust. Can you use my old code?"  
  
"That's pretty complicated…"  
  
"Just put the signs for 'day' and 'hour' and 'bread.'" I draw them quickly.  
  
Plutarch takes it with some trepidation, then turns decisively to address everyone. "We will, of course, also need to consider our evacuation of the Viewing Center more carefully than we have. It will need to be simultaneous with the break from the arena, or we risk sabotaging one or the other. I have a craft of my own, suitable to get us to a rendezvous point which is, in fact, an island, where we will regroup with the tributes from the arena. There is a fully equipped medical hovercraft waiting for us there, in case of injuries."  
  
"So, what's the plan for our evacuation?" Jack asks.  
  
"On screen, you will see Beetee working with the wire he has been provided. Ignore whatever he claims to be using it for. Come to the roof in the hour before -- one at a time. Cause no alarm. Just start calling in your spellers and escorts."  
  
"What about Effie?" I ask. "If we disappear, they'll grab her for sure. I want her with us when we go."  
  
"Effie Trinket is a Capitol citizen, and not part of this business. Snow knows he has no reason to mistreat her."  
  
"Except to get us to make a mistake!" I pace across the room. "And what about Portia? They've already arranged an accident for Cinna, and she's locked up in the Justice Building. Effie's trying to get her out --"  
  
"Then Effie will need to succeed. There is no way we'll be able to manage a jailbreak at the same time."  
  
"So you want Effie to stick her neck out, and then you're going to leave her here?"  
  
"Where, precisely, do you think she'd rather be? Or do you suggest we remove her from her home against her will? Possibly drug her and re-educate her?"  
  
I don't look at him. I don't think Effie needs re-educating, I just think she needs to get rid of the re-education she has. But Plutarch thinks he's the only one who can beat it. "And Peeta's preps? You said Fulvia's taking care of Katniss's."  
  
Plutarch glowers at me. "Who else do you want me to bring along, Haymitch? Those children you visited, maybe? Or the young couple who want you to save Katniss and Peeta? Perhaps Julian Day? Snow's granddaughter, Prisca? Maybe we should bring Snow himself along, while we're at it. Or we could just airlift the entire population of the Capitol out, and they can all start over somewhere else."  
  
"I'm talking about people in the line of fire."  
  
"And I am talking about an already delicate operation that _cannot_ absorb more complications. If Effie isn't able to sponsor Portia successfully, she will most likely be deported to District Three, much of which is in rebel hands. As to the beauticians and the medic on Peeta's prep team, I hardly think Snow will concern himself with them. They're not important, in the grand scheme. I wouldn't trouble Katniss's team if Cinna hadn't explicitly requested it."  
  
"And our Avox, Darius? He's Katniss's friend."  
  
Plutarch looks at me like I'm something nasty he's found on his shoe. "I sometimes wonder, Haymitch, how dedicated you are to this." I clench my fists against my side to keep from hitting him, but let him go on. "This isn't about keeping up your social connections in the Capitol. We'll all be losing people. I have a family myself. I'm sure that my nephew's career will be destroyed. My apprentice Gamemakers will be questioned harshly. Fulvia's brother is in debtors' prison, and will almost certainly never be released. We can't rescue everyone. We don't have the resources. I arranged to make sure Peeta Mellark remains alive, and you've seen what that has cost so far. How many more will you sacrifice to remove people who are not, in all likelihood, in mortal danger?"  
  
I don't say anything. There's no argument with this on a logical level. But I decide that even if I have to take a page out of Katniss's book and drug Effie with sleep syrup, she and Portia will be on the rooftop with me, and if Plutarch doesn't put her on his transport, I'll leave Plutarch behind and learn to fly the thing myself.  
  
Having decided this, I feel considerably better.  
  
Plutarch lays out the rest of his delicate choreography, which will undoubtedly fail to happen as planned, then releases us, saying obscurely that, given the positions of the tributes, nothing of consequence will happen until six, and we should get some sleep while we can. He instructs us to go down separately, as it would be obvious if we all arrived in a pack.  
  
Effie has returned to my station when I get back, though she's asleep with her head on the table beside the phone. I wake her up. Her wig is slightly askew, but I can't see the hair under it. "Go back to bed, Effie," I say.  
  
"You left the phone unattended," she says, straightening the wig and looking at me crossly.  
  
"Sorry. Got called in by the Gamemakers. Well, Plutarch Heavensbee, anyway. He says our bank account is pretty low. And he won't send Katniss clothes."  
  
Effie makes a disgusted little sound. "Really. The poor girl is nearly naked in there. Did any sponsors call while I was sleeping?"  
  
"The only call I got was from Prim."  
  
"Oh. She's a sweet thing, isn't she?" Effie starts going through our donations on the boards, probably trying to make them add up to a tee shirt. "I do like her when I go visit Twelve."  
  
"Effie, do you ever think of living someplace like Twelve?"  
  
Her hand flutters over her heart, and she says, possibly sarcastically, "Haymitch, what _are_ you proposing?"  
  
"Nothing. Just wondering."  
  
She considers it. "I can't see why I'd give up everything I have. My work is here, such as it is. And I have to admit, I'd be very uncomfortable if everyone could see my real hair. I'd feel as naked as Katniss must!"  
  
I consider pressing further, to see if she'd really object to being kidnapped. There was a time she would have come with me, before they took her away, before she became a model Capitol citizen. It wouldn't have been a kidnapping, either. She actually told me once that she'd "theoretically" not mind being in Twelve with me at all. It was the closest we came to talking about a future together. I didn't believe her then, and now… now, I don't know what she'd think of it at all.  
  
Besides, I'm pretty sure she knows about Hazelle, though she may ascribe it more importance than it actually has. Instead of pressing on, I tell her to get more sleep, and she tells me to get some, and we argue about who will be spelling who until we decide to just stay up together and watch the musical.  
  
Fulvia apparently stopped re-writing before the end, because the last half hour is actually watchable, and the "Nightlock" number, with six separate plots being sung around the image of Katniss offering up the berries, is kind of terrifying. Peeta is singing about his death wish, and Katniss about how she refuses to live without him. I am contemplating suicide (I'm not really following why in this instance, but I'm a little uncomfortable to find out just how transparent _that_ is to a complete stranger), and Effie is trying to sing me out of it. Ruth and Dannel -- who are best friends in the play, though in real life, until the Reaping, they hadn't spoken for years -- are singing out their mutual grief, while Mirrem sings wistfully about having his children, but never his heart. The "cousins" are singing about how life would be without family, and Prim has a haunting song about becoming an only child. If I didn't know who these people were in real life, and exactly how they must be feeling about this, I'd probably be impressed.  
  
At about a quarter to six, the show ends, and I go to sleep with my head on the table until the anthem plays, announcing the start of live coverage fifteen minutes later. They don't waste time with recaps or studio analysis, because Chaff and Earl have woken up to a nightmare.  
  
I have seen a lot of mutts in the last twenty-five years, and none of them inspire warm feelings in me, but this thing has to be the largest mutt I've ever seen. Leontius cheerfully describes it as another "literary" mutt, this one a dragon. Personally, I think it looks like pictures of dinosaurs I've seen, but I'll go with dragon if that's what Claudius wants to call it. It's a huge, bird-like thing, with sharp claws and a tearing beak.  
  
And it breathes fire.  
  
The Muttation Appreciation Society must be going crazy for this thing.  
  
It seems to have woken up just as coverage began, giving a flaming roar and taking to the skies above Chaff and Earl's camp. They'd have been flash-fried if Chaff hadn't been awake and keeping watch. He grabs Earl and doesn't even wait for him to wake up before dragging him to cover under the heavy forest canopy.  
  
"This cover won't last!" he yells, pulling Earl up a hill. "The thing can burn the canopy away."  
  
"The _hell_..." Earl manages, panting. He stops running and breathes heavily, hands on his knees. "I can't just keep running, Chaff. Neither can you."  
  
"You have a weapon?"  
  
Earl shakes his head. "We can come up with something. Let's break another tree. Spear." He mimes throwing one.  
  
Chaff obviously has his doubts, but neither of them is in any shape to run forever. So he finds a thin tree, and between them, they manage to snap it in two, leaving a sharp wooden point. Water gushes from the stump, then peters out.  
  
"You take it," he says. "I only have one hand -- that thing's too heavy to work without balance." He pries one of the sharp splinters off the side of the stump, using his foot for counter pressure, and wields it like a knife. It was his smart hand he lost, but he's made himself learn to compensate.  
  
Earl has the spear balanced nicely. He was a spear-man in his Games, if I recall. As he watches, the leaves above them go up in flames, and sharp talons descend. Chaff swings with his knife, drawing blood. Earl pokes at the creature with the makeshift spear, but can't get a clear throw.  
  
"If we were out on the beach," he says, "I could hit him from the ground."  
  
"And he could broil us while you're trying!"  
  
Earl considers this. "Right. Yeah. Don't need to slay the dragon. Just keep him off us. Except that we can't do that if it's alive, so maybe we better slay it."  
  
"Oh!" Chaff exclaims in disgust. "Was it your Games where you were slaying half the arena just to keep it off you?"  
  
"There were a lot of mutts!"  
  
"And you went out hunting them. You were crazy. Crazy's going to get us both killed."  
  
"You have a better idea?"  
  
Chaff grumbles, then says, "Fine. The beach. But stick close to the trees."  
  
They make a run for it. The dragon follows them.  
  
Once they reach the beach, Earl hurls the spear at the creature... and misses. The dragon burns it to a stick of ash.  
  
Chaff grabs his arm and says, "Come on. We've got to get somewhere, fast."  
  
As if to punctuate, a jet of flame comes at them. They dive for the trees. Earl starts to head east.  
  
Chaff grabs him. "No! Just before our friend woke up, I heard something over there. Buzzing. I got close. There were tracker jacker nests in the trees."  
  
Earl looks west, toward where the dragon is systematically burning down lines of trees. "Well," he says, "we can't go the other way. I'll try not to upset the bees."  
  
"Wasps."  
  
"Whatever. Maybe our friend will bake them for us. Think we could eat them?" Earl sets off at a jog, his earlier weariness absorbed in the rush of adrenaline. Chaff follows, looking nervously up at the trees. There are definitely nests up there, but I don't see any tracker jackers crawling on them. They're asleep.  
  
The dragon comes to the edge of the wood, then, for no reason I can see, turns around and goes back to its lair.  
  
"What an exciting chase to wake up to!" Leontius Bidwell, Claudius's early morning replacement, says as we return to the studio. "Welcome back to the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games!"  
  
He goes on to re-cap yesterday's events, and again, they try for interviews in the street. They manage to scare up people who claim these are the best games ever, and they're terribly excited, but I can't help noticing that they keep looking nervously off-camera. I wonder who's been brought along to make sure they give the right answers.  
  
On my screens, I can see that Katniss and Peeta are still sleeping. They've both been digging at their rashes. So has Finnick, who I can see on Harris's screen, though he hasn't been doing it in his sleep. I don't think he's slept at all, though he's nodding groggily as he weaves a basket to keep himself awake.  
  
Coverage shows the Careers, now being guarded by Cashmere, sleeping peacefully. Cashmere is singing quietly to herself, the one song of hers that almost reached the level of a hit (a brainless little dance tune that had a quick run in the clubs during the Games the year it was out).  
  
Wiress is awake in Johanna's camp, muttering "Tick-tock, tick-tock," and singing "Hickory Dickory Dock." She watches the smoke rise from the fires where Chaff and Earl were, and sings, " _The clock struck four, the mouse said no more_ ," then lets her voice trail off, whispering, "Tick-tock."  
  
In her tree, Faraday Sykes is muttering in her sleep.  
  
Coverage returns to the studio, where Leontius has invited in several muttation experts to talk about the dragon.  
  
I fall asleep at the table, and don't wake up until nine, when there is a lot of noise in the room. A hot geyser has just erupted in the middle of the Careers' camp. Gloss gets a nasty burn, and they're lucky that's all it is. The whole area is filled with them, and everywhere they try to go, it seems there are walls of hot water shooting up around them. Somehow, they manage to dodge them, running a little bit to the south. Leontius shows this on the map.  
  
I frown at it, and think "Tick-tock." The dragon, at six in the morning. At the base of the circle. Right before the dragon, Chaff heard tracker jackers in the area where he and Earl are now. The blood rain last night, followed by the fog, followed by the monkeys, as Katniss's group worked its way around the edge of the circle. And now, nine o'clock, and geysers.  
  
By luck, Earl and Chaff, and now the Careers, have moved backward.  
  
In the opposite direction from the way the disasters are moving.  
  
"What is it, Haymitch?" Harris asks beside me.  
  
I switch my screen to show the main broadcast, where the map is still hanging, then hold up my watch. "Notice anything?" I ask.  
  
Harris swears under his breath.  
  
Tick-tock.  
  
Yeah, Plutarch -- very easy once you figure it out. Except that there's nowhere else to go, and if you escape one horror, there's a good chance of running into another.  
  
I don't have time to think about it much, because Katniss wakes up around nine-fifteen and demands that I send her ointment for her skin. Her exact words are, "Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin!" This gets a laugh in the room, including from me, largely because she has so easily expanded the word "we" to include Finnick, and seems not to even have noticed that she's done so. I send the order to Plutarch. Luckily, the sponsor calls have been coming in while I was sleeping.  
  
The ointment is the regular stocks, so Plutarch just has it dropped. Katniss and Finnick smear it on, then, because they are both still children no matter what they think, decide to scare Peeta with their painted faces. The phones start ringing, and don't stop.  
  
Plutarch drops the bread a few minutes later. Finnick examines it very closely, and obviously notices the designs. They don't actually tell him anything.  
  
By ten, I'm wondering what the next disaster will be. Sure enough, we start to hear a rushing sound. The camera goes to Faraday Sykes, who has been gathering fruit from high in the trees. She frowns, then screams and tries to scramble down from her perch, to get somewhere she can run.  
  
The camera shows the spread of the woods. From the top of the hill, there is a huge wave cresting. I have no idea where it's coming from -- most likely the clockwork, so to speak, under the arena.  
  
It crashes down, taking everything along with it. Faraday is thrown high into the sky as it hits her tree, and falls down into the canopy, skewered on a treetop. The wave rolls over her.  
  
The cannon fires.  
  
We get a long dissertation from Leontius about exactly how the wave worked, and a brief mention of Faraday's victory long ago.  
  
When we return to the arena, Katniss, Finnick, and Peeta are all gathering their things, which were nearly dragged out to sea. Well, out to small, shallow lake, anyway. Katniss retrieves her mockingjay pin, thankfully, but lets her ruined clothes sink. She suddenly stops and moves slowly back to the boys, signaling them to fade into the jungle.  
  
"There," she says, pointing her chin toward a spot down the beach. The camera shows it from a vantage point close to her. All they'll be able to see are three bloody figures staggering up the beach quite a ways away.  
  
"Who is that?" Peeta asks. "Or what? Muttations?"  
  
Katniss draws her bow, and I will her not to fire. She's too far for a clean shot, but this particular alliance is going to be prickly enough without it starting that way.  
  
I look at Harris's screen, which shows Finnick.  
  
On the main screen, one of the red figures starts dancing around in an animated, angry way.  
  
Finnick laughs and runs out onto the beach.  
  
"Johanna!" he calls.  
  
A moment later, our team is together.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alliance joins together, and the mentors are dragged off to Claudius Templesmith's studio to commentate.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**  
While Finnick goes to greet Johanna, Jack Anderson and Philo Dillard wheel their tables over to join Harris and me.  
  
I haven't had a good up close look at Philo for a while. He's never really been in my circle, and only wanders vaguely around the edges of the Games when he's here at all. Brutus has insisted on mentoring District Two every year since his own win, which leaves a lot of their male victors at loose ends. I remember that Philo was a bit of a smart-ass during his Games, often rolling his eyes at his allies and snapping at Brutus from the arena, which of course meant that I liked him. I know he and Brutus do not get along. Philo asked for a blow-gun and Brutus sent a knife, which ended up with Philo having scars all over his face from his final fight. He's never had them removed. In fact, he's had them enhanced with tattoos, probably because he'd otherwise be a good-looking kid, and the vultures would be all over him. He has shoulder length brown hair, small, sharp features, and blue eyes that dart around restlessly as he talks.  
  
I don't know much about him, really, but Jack seems to be getting along with him well -- they're laughing at some shared joke as they move the tables -- and Jack's a pretty good judge of character.  
  
"Allies?" Jack asks me. It's not entirely obvious from the arena, as Katniss has managed to say something while we were arranging ourselves that's caused Johanna to start screaming. I'm betting it's a delayed reaction to losing Blight more than any real anger at Katniss, but Katniss won't know about that, and dislikes her already. Finnick throws Jo over his shoulder and carries her to the water, dumping her in unceremoniously while Katniss and Peeta look after Wiress and Beetee.  
  
"Sure," I say. "Can't you tell?"  
  
Philo shakes his head at his screen. "Johanna doesn't seem to be Katniss's biggest fan."  
  
"It's mutual," I assure him.  
  
"Are you sure Johanna will stick with the alliance?" he asks Jack. "Now that District Three has the others to look after them, I mean."  
  
"She'll stick with Finnick," Jack says. "He's her best friend. And he's sticking with Katniss and Peeta. And they're sticking with Wiress and Beetee."  
  
Philo doesn't look like he believes this, but the discussion is cut short when a Capitol attendant approaches our happy little family and tells us that we're expected to appear at Claudius Templesmith's studio to give commentary on the alliance. We're approached by security, lest we mistake it for a casual invitation.   
  
Effie takes our station, Harris's, and Jack's; Toffy picks up Philo's in addition to his own. This is all done with very few words, as we're hustled out of the building, piled into a car without further ado and driven to the Media Center. The Games are playing in the lobby, and I have time to register that Katniss is trying to clean Beetee's wounds before I'm herded into prep, where I'm glad to find at least part of Peeta's prep team, shaken up but in one piece.  
  
Claudia's hands are trembling as she washes my hair and tries to style it.  
  
"Are you all right?" I ask her.  
  
"They came and asked me questions about Katniss's dress. If we preps were told anything. Is everything all right?"  
  
"As much as it can be. Have you seen Katniss's team?"  
  
"No. I tried to call Flavius, but his line's down for non-payment. Octavia hasn't been to her regular job. Do you think they knew about the dress?"  
  
"I doubt it," I say. "Cinna probably just told them to do her hair and makeup in a particular way."  
  
Claudia takes a ragged-sounding deep breath. "Are they taking it out on Peeta and Katniss in the arena?"  
  
"I think they're taking it out on everyone in the arena," I say. I wait until she turns on a hair dryer, then I pull her down close enough to ask, "Are they watching you?"  
  
She gulps and nods, then stands up and continues to work on my hair without speaking, taking herself out of the range of my voice before someone decides I'm speaking sedition to her. Sergius comes in, but he doesn't have much to do with my fingernails, and only applies a little make-up to cover the dark circles under my eyes. The thick make-up he's wearing is not covering up a dark bruise across his cheek, and one of his fingers is in a splint.  
  
"Where's Valentine?" I ask.  
  
"Do you need a medic?" Sergius asks.  
  
"No. But you look like you do. Accident?"  
  
"Yeah," he says dully. "Accident. Valentine and Claudia had one, too. Val patched us up, though. Where are Portia and Cinna?"  
  
The question is direct, and for the first time since Portia's call, I remember fully that Cinna is not coming back. That he has had an "accident" of his own that can't be covered up with make-up or splinted until it heals. "Portia's been pulled in for... because she's not a Capitol citizen."  
  
"Cinna's her sponsor."  
  
"Sergius, Cinna's dead."  
  
Saying it like that, into the noisy air of the prep room, it seems real. He's dead. Cinna, whose weird, living clothes fascinated the crowd. Cinna, who became a rebel because a complete stranger was murdered on his watch.  
  
And again, I can't let myself really absorb it. Because the Games are on -- in the arena, and here in the Capitol. I have to go on stage and talk strategy. I can't do anything suspicious.  
  
Hell, I can't even get drunk.  
  
All I can do is close the door on it again, let it lie dormant until I can either drown it or give it the attention it deserves. It's a hell of a way to honor the dead.  
  
Sergius blinks a few times, and doesn't look at all surprised. "I thought he might be. One of the... accidents... said something about no more pretty dresses. He laughed about it."  
  
I can't think of anything to say that will make it better, or make it even marginally less awful, so I change the subject. "Effie's trying to switch Portia's sponsorship."  
  
"That's nice. I would, but I have debts, so I can't sponsor anyone." He finishes up and waves me upstairs.  
  
Philo's prep seems not to have taken long, because he's already waiting in Claudius's green room. "A clock," he says, pointing at the screen where the Games are playing. "My girl figured it out. Your girl figured out what she was saying. Whole thing's a _clock._ "  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"You _know?_ "  
  
"Caught it this morning, right after the Careers got steamed. Harris knows. I figured everyone saw it by now."  
  
He frowns and watches for a few minutes, then says maybe the last thing I'd have expected: "Why do you call us Careers? I always wondered. Beetee and Wiress kept saying that all through training."  
  
I look at him. The epithet is so common among my friends -- and in the public in District Twelve -- that I never even thought about how it sounded to the people in what Effie has always called the inner district alliance. I shrug. "All the training when you're kids. Which of course you don't do." I roll my eyes.  
  
"Of course we train," Philo says, annoyed. "I don't know why you don't. It's not like you don't know the Games are coming. But the arena's not much of a career path. You either die young or retire rich. Not much of a career either way."  
  
"Well, there's the exciting world of mentoring."  
  
"Like Brutus would have let any of the rest of us come up here and mentor."  
  
"What are they doing now?" I ask, looking back at the Games, where our alliance seems to be gathering up supplies and bundling Beetee to be moved.  
  
"Dunno. Beetee's got that wire, which I guess he means to use. And then they decided to walk to the Cornucopia."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well, the clock's ticking in their direction."  
  
"Why the Cornucopia?"  
  
"Something about checking the theory."  
  
I shake my head. "More like needing something to do for the cameras."  
  
"It's a bad idea. You can see that island from everywhere. Look." He nods at the screen, which has switched over to the Career camp.  
  
Gloss is at the edge of the woods, watching the beach with a wicked grin. He gestures to the others, who are dressing some steam burns. "Hey. Look."  
  
"What?" Enobaria says, glancing over with a disdainful sniff. "They've got six people, all together. We've got four. Learn to count, Blondie. We should wait until they split up."  
  
"Two of them are wounded," Brutus says. "Which means they're not fighting. And even if they weren't wounded, they're Nuts and Volts, if I’m guessing right. Which means the other four are going to have to waste time babysitting them."  
  
Cashmere nods. "That's true. And if they're going to the Cornucopia, they may be low on weapons... and I don't think I really want them re-arming if they are."  
  
Brutus snorts. "You could re-arm Loverboy with a nuke, and he still wouldn't be much more of a threat than Nuts. It just _pains_ him so!" He mocks Peeta with fake tears. "Poor little tributes, I just can't kill them unless it's an accident, or they beg me! Because I am too good for the rest of you!"  
  
"What's Brutus's problem with Peeta?" I ask.  
  
Philo rolls his eyes. "Come on. You know Brutus. As far as he's concerned, being a man means making sure you don't have any feelings left. I'm not sure he thinks he's completely succeeded -- he still drinks at Drake's grave every year -- but he figures it's something to aim for. Peeta's not even aiming for it." He shrugs. "Hacked him off last year when 'Loverboy' beat his champion to a standstill in the woods, and walked away with half a crown after letting a girl rescue him. And there's something about moral prissiness, like he's too soft-hearted to make tough decisions that 'real men' need to make. Like which kids to kill first, I guess. Plus, of course, he's your tribute, and you're… how did he put it? 'The weeping drunk poet wannabe.' And your sponsors are all sentimental old women. I think that covers it." He watches quietly for a second, then says, "Just in case you're wondering, it's Brutus, not District Two. Personally, I like poetry. Which probably explains why he hated me from the start, too." He grins.  
  
I try to absorb this -- it still doesn't explain _why_ Brutus is like this, but it's more than I've ever noticed -- and turn my attention back to the Games, where the Careers are still debating the merits of an attack.  
  
"I say we don't go," Enobaria says. "It'd be suicide."  
  
"The vote's three to one," Gloss says. "Learn to count, Fangs."  
  
"So we're all in?" Brutus asks.  
  
Gloss snorts. "I think you're crazy to count the kid out. I did knife training with him. But you're right that they'll be stuck looking after District Three."  
  
"He's probably right," Philo says. "Wish I could say he wasn't. I'd like nothing better than to make Brutus eat about half of everything he's ever said."  
  
"You don't have warm, fuzzy feelings for mentor?"  
  
"Got him to thank for my pretty face." Philo wrinkles his nose.  
  
"He's a whole lot crazier than Wiress."   
  
Philo nods. "Yeah. Lyme said that just before she left." He grins. "Gave me a present, too." He pulls back the hair by his ear and reveals one of her flame-shaped gold earrings. "Brutus and the Gamemakers," he says. "She told me they were the craziest of all."  
  
In other words, Plutarch hasn't a clue about this particular ally, and Lyme doesn't trust the grand plan all that much. I have a suspicion that she'll find a way to vanish in District Two as soon as she gets there.  
  
The coverage cuts to the Cornucopia, where Johanna has found the tomahawks Cecelia wanted to give her and is throwing them into the soft gold.  
  
Jack and Harris come up together. Harris looks more or less as he usually does. Jack has gone for the full Capitol look, with loopy make-up and a fright-wig of orange and yellow extensions in his already-dyed hair. The attendants take us straight up to the stage. Claudius has a doctor on, talking about Beetee's wound and Katniss's treatment of it (apparently, she did as well as it was possible to do given the arena's resources), but the mentors of the "new power alliance" are more of a priority. He scoots the doctor off and calls us out like we're his long lost best friends. I'm sure on television, it looks like we are. But close up, I can see that his eyes are colder than usual, and I wonder what he has in mind. If Caesar Flickerman can be trusted to help tributes and mentors, Claudius Templesmith can be trusted to twist us around and mount us like collected butterflies if given a chance.  
  
"Please, have a seat," he says. "It seems your tributes have made quite the alliance -- half of the remaining field, in fact."  
  
I look at the screen. It's muted at the moment to prevent feedback. There's an earpiece I can put in if it becomes necessary to hear. I can see Peeta trying to draw a map of the arena while Katniss watches. Wiress is scrubbing a roll of copper wire and singing. Gloss and Cashmere are swimming along one of the spokes, as quietly as they can, only surfacing to take deep breaths. Brutus and Enobaria are coming from another direction.  
  
"Looks like we may have a fight coming," Claudius says. "How do you think your alliance's chances are?"  
  
"Four against six, when one of ours is an expert with ranged weapons, and two of the others have good throwing weapons?" Harris shrugs elaborately. "I'm not worried."  
  
"Haymitch?"  
  
"Oh, I'm always worried," I say. "Fighting's no joke in the arena. But I’m not more worried than usual."  
  
"And Jack Anderson, of Seven. I haven't seen you since Johanna Mason competed. Nice mentoring there -- was it your idea or hers to play helpless? And since she could hardly do that here, what _is_ the strategy? Are you worried?"  
  
Jack starts wailing as sarcastically as Brutus did in the arena and says, "I'm scared, Claudius! Hold me!"  
  
"Um..."  
  
He sits back and snickers. "I'm not worried about Jo Mason. Her strategy's always going to be whatever makes the most sense to her at the moment. It was in her Games. I didn't know what she could do until she did it. I'm not sure she did, either."  
  
"She seems hostile to her team members. Do you think she may be planning another surprise turnaround?"  
  
"Well, since you seem to expect it, it would hardly be a surprise."  
  
Claudius turns to Harris. "In your own Games, you allied with Districts One and Two until the melee at the end. How do you see the melee playing out in _this_ alliance? Does Finnick Odair have any advantage over his teammates?"  
  
"I’m sure Finnick would say that he's prettier."  
  
"But in terms of hand-to-hand combat skills..."  
  
"Claudius?" I interrupt. "Have you seen this arena? I doubt it will get to a melee."  
  
"Then you find the arena itself to be the biggest threat."  
  
"It's caused every death since the battle at the Cornu--"  
  
But I don't finish, because as I'm speaking, Gloss slides silently from the water, sneaks up behind Wiress, and slashes her throat. I stop talking and put in my earpiece.  
  
Claudius grins smugly as Katniss looses an arrow. This one finds its target, and Gloss falls beside his last victim. I remember that he admired Katniss's archery skills. Maybe he should have kept them in mind.  
  
Cashmere is barely out of the water when she takes a tomahawk to the chest from Johanna. The field has been cut by a quarter in less than a minute, and it had nothing to do with the arena. Enobaria and Brutus attack Finnick and Peeta, and Finnick takes Enobaria's knife to his thigh in the process of blocking Brutus's spear, which was aimed straight at Peeta. Peeta raises his knife and goes after Enobaria, but she doesn't underestimate him, and runs for the water. Finnick grabs both Brutus's spear and his own trident and raises them threateningly.  
  
The cannon booms three times, and the camera switches to Enobaria, who has pulled herself up onto a spoke of land and is screaming at Brutus to abort the mission. Brutus hesitates a moment, then, swearing at the top of his lungs, follows her.  
  
Katniss pulls an arrow from her quiver and starts to follow, then something that makes no sense happens.  
  
The island spins.  
  
Most of the arena remains stable, but the central island, where the Cornucopia stands, spins like someone has released a spring. The bodies are thrown out to sea, along with Beetee, who doesn't have the strength to hold on. Finnick, Johanna, Peeta, and Katniss claw at the sand to keep purchase. I have no idea what Plutarch's game is here. Katniss could have had a clear shot at Enobaria. Brutus wouldn't have had time to adjust.  
  
Which would mean that all of the remaining tributes would be ours (except Earl, but I doubt he's exactly in Snow's fan club, either), and the Capitol would insist on deaths before Thirteen could get here.  
  
The island stops sharply, throwing all of them a few feet along the sand.  
  
"Well, that was interesting!" Claudius says. "I wonder if this will have any effect on their understanding of the arena's clock-like features!"  
  
None of us offers an answer. Finnick has to swim out to rescue Beetee. Katniss spies something, and swims out toward Wiress's body.  
  
"What's your girlfriend after?" Johanna asks Peeta.  
  
Peeta looks completely confused (and more than a little green), then light dawns. "The wire. Beetee's wire. The one he wanted so much."  
  
Johanna kicks at the sand and makes a sort of growling sound. "That wire! That..." She can't seem to think of anything rude enough to call the offending equipment, and just throws her bloody axe into the Cornucopia again.  
  
"Johanna Mason's response to Beetee's wire is quite odd," Claudius says to the audience. "As Katniss Everdeen reminded us in their earlier conversation" -- I must have missed this while I was in prep -- "she does habitually call him 'Volts,' his common nickname among this year's tributes. She must remember how he won his own Games." He turns to Jack. "Why do you think she's acting like she's forgotten?"  
  
"You need to take a trip into the arena, Claudius."  
  
"I've visited many of the arena sites--"  
  
"While the Games are on. It gets real easy to forget things like how someone got his nickname. Or what you had for breakfast, or what day it is. Everyone calls Beetee Volts. They called him Volts when _I_ was a tribute. I probably introduced him to her as Volts. It doesn't mean she remembers exactly what he did."  
  
"But Katniss Everdeen just reminded her."  
  
 _Great,_ I think. _Just what we_ don't _want anyone thinking about._  
  
Which Katniss would know if I hadn't been too clever for my own good, doling out the truth the way she and Peeta tried to dole out my liquor.  
  
"In case you didn't notice," Philo cuts in, "they were just in a battle. You watch someone get cut, the little things tend to fly out of your head again."  
  
On screen, our alliance is trying to figure out which way to go, which the programmers don't find terribly interesting, so they switch to Enobaria and Brutus, who are having a screaming match.  
  
"It's an even count now!" Enobaria says, pushing him backwards. "Just you and me, and we have an equal vote from now on. That little operation worked well for you, didn't it?"  
  
"You shut up. If you hadn't been slow on the uptake, we'd have gotten through Odair."  
  
"I'm the one who actually hit him. And that's why he missed you with that trident. You were busy trying to get a clear shot at Mellark."  
  
"I had a clear shot. If Odair hadn't gotten in the way, we'd be down one more."  
  
"Or Peeta would have grabbed you like he grabbed Clove last year, and had you crying to do whatever he wanted, just like she did. Only you wouldn't have had an alliance to trade for it."  
  
"You're nothing!" Brutus yells at her. "You run the first time that useless kid waves a butter knife at you."  
  
Philo makes a face.  
  
I still don't know why Brutus has become so focused on Peeta, even he dislikes him. Last year, he was contemptuous, but I assumed it was part of his show for the cameras. In the arena, he seems to be offended by Peeta's very existence, murderously annoyed by everything about him.  
  
"It was a Bowie," Enobaria says, "and if he hadn't killed me, Finnick would have. Or Johanna."  
  
"Maybe _I'll_ kill you."  
  
"You can try. And then, if you live -- which you won't -- you can try to take them on five to one. In case you didn't notice, you lost the rest of your allies. Which is exactly what I said was going to happen."  
  
"I--"  
  
"And don't forget, there are two more out there. Next thing you know, there are going to be seven of them. Do you have any idea where Chaff is?"  
  
"I think I can handle a one handed old man."  
  
"And Earl?"  
  
"He's got two hands, but he's still old."  
  
"You're not exactly tribute standard age yourself," Philo mutters in the studio.  
  
"That brings up an interesting question," Claudius says, turning away from the screen with a malicious little grin. "What role _is_ age playing in these Games? Haymitch -- you've been around the longest of our mentors. What do you think? Did Peeta Mellark volunteer for you because of your age, or your well-known struggles with alcohol?"  
  
 _It's not just Katniss, you know. Peeta wouldn't have let you go in there to die if he had a way to stop it. He's frustrated with your drinking, but he actually loves you. Do you know that?_  
  
I shut out Danny's voice in my head and ignore that part of Claudius's question. "There are nine tributes left. Four of them are older. Five are younger. Age doesn't seem to be that big a factor." I consider adding that of the older tributes, at least two -- Mags and Seeder -- went out on their own terms, defending other people, otherwise they'd still be there, but it would just get cut. I'm not sure whether or not Berenice is considered old or young.  
  
Claudius looks nonplussed by this. He turns to Jack. "If Haymitch is wrong and the arena does not result in more deaths, do you think Johanna Mason is capable of taking on her long-time friend, Finnick Odair? And how do you think she'd fare against Katniss Everdeen or Peeta Mellark?"  
  
"Johanna can take on whoever she wants to take on," Jack says. "But she's never going to want to take on Finnick. That's why they're allies."  
  
"You killed an ally in your Games," Claudius says, and cues up the video. It shows Jack, twelve years ago, looking much more normal than he does now, at least physically. He's skinny and dirty, and his mop of straight sandy blond hair is merely tangled and full of dead leaves. The video shows him battling at the edge of a cliff with the boy from Six, with whom he had been considerably more than friends by the end of their Games.   
  
Jack goes pale, and I can see his knuckles turning white. He was as broken as Annie for most of his first year after that. I reach over and put a hand on his shoulder, and he takes a breath, forcing himself to focus.  
  
"If I recall," Claudius says, "this entire fight was sparked by a missing piece of bread that he'd received, and agreed to share with you." He turns on the audio -- where Jack is, indeed, screaming at the top of his lungs that the bread hadn't been divided equally -- then smiles complacently.  
  
Jack speaks in carefully measured tones. "We were starving," he says. "That won't be a problem here. They're at the sea with a fisherman, and in a forest with a hunter."  
  
We all know that the Capitol could change these conditions at any moment, but we also know that we're not leaving any of them in that arena long enough for it to come to fighting each other or starving.  
  
Claudius doesn't really care about this. Obviously, his job today was to shame us as much as he can. He turns on Philo. "I suppose Beetee is hardly in a position to fight, when it comes to it. Then again, you weren't, either -- you'd won your melee with your allies, but there was still one tribute left. If you could advise Beetee now, what advice would you give him?"  
  
"Blow gun," Philo says breezily. "What about you, Claudius? If you were in there, and you had to fight against, say, Haymitch and Jack and Harris and me, how do you think you'd do? How long do you think you'd last? What's your kill count?"  
  
"I'm a Capitol citizen. I have no treason to atone for." Claudius turns away disdainfully, and returns coverage to the Games, where our alliance has finally chosen a path to the forest, discerning by the sun that it's monkey hour, and choosing a spot with no visible monkeys. They're convinced that the spinning of the Cornucopia has disoriented them entirely, though the map shows that it ended in the same position in started in. I guess they really don't have any way to know it. This doesn't seem like a good strategy to me on its face -- going straight to the monkeys and staying on the beach would be better -- and it's made worse when Claudius projects the locations of the tributes on the arena map. They're ahead of the monkeys... by one hour. Whatever happens at four o'clock will happen to them.  
  
And at five, the tracker jackers will wake up in the segment where Chaff and Earl are currently sleeping. They'll only have the dragon to run to, unless they join up with Finnick's team at four to deal with whatever the issue is. Unless they defeat one of the traps, they're going to be chased around the clock until they die.  
  
Enobaria and Brutus ran the other direction, back toward the wedge they came from -- eight o'clock. They have a few hours before they need to worry, unless they decide to kill each other first, which Brutus, at least, seems to be contemplating. Enobaria has resorted to the silent treatment. She is presently eating from a picnic basket someone has sent her, and not sharing.  
  
In our group, Peeta offers to get water, but Johanna demands another map, insisting that Finnick get the water while Katniss guards.  
  
"What kind of strategy is this?" Claudius asks. "Have Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason decided that their District Twelve allies are no longer useful now that they have one another?"  
  
I know better (I'm pretty sure Jo wants to keep them separate so that they don't run off together) but I realize with a sinking heart that Katniss doesn't. Claudius's guess makes the most sense in terms of the arena. It won't occur to Peeta, who obviously trusts them, but Katniss has a look of narrow, hostile suspicion on her face as she follows Finnick to a tree. She is waiting for a betrayal.  
  
I am waiting for her to try and anticipate it, take the first step, fire before she's fired on.  
  
Claudius is waiting eagerly for the show.  
  
None of us expect what actually happens.  
  
Somewhere in the jungle, Primrose Everdeen screams. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie is called away from the viewing center as the countdown to rescue begins.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**  
The sound is so real that I almost forget that there's no way they've brought Prim to the arena. Katniss runs into the jungle, calling Prim's name, her eyes wild. Finnick runs after her. I see Peeta rush up the beach, but he's thrown back at the edge of the woods. I hear a solid thudding sound, but I can't see what he's hit.  
  
Claudius brings up a graphic for the audience, showing this wedge of the arena. "This is a new invention for this year's Quell," he says quietly. "A thin plastic barrier, fully impenetrable from either side, but invisible to the tributes. What have we got inside?"  
  
The coverage returns to Katniss, who looks up into the branches of the tree, and I understand, even as she fires her arrow.  
  
Jabberjays.  
  
Extinct in the wild -- except in their prolific descendants, the mockingjays -- but apparently still in the recipe book in the Capitol's twisted labs. In Twelve, during the war, they used to have drills for what to do if a jabberjay was around, what lies you could make it take back to the Capitol. In the years since, kids have made a game of it, coming up with outrageous lies just for the fun of it. I guess they played it during the Games. Danny said that Mom won several rounds. At any rate, you had to start with the reality, then slowly start piling on the absurdities. By the end, everyone would be laughing, except the storyteller, who had to keep a straight face until everyone else had cracked up. Danny was always good at it. It strikes me that Peeta would be even better.  
  
But the fictional jabberjays of the game were spies, and the game was pretending to send them back with misinformation.  
  
These jabberjays aren't spies. They're weapons, and they exist only to destroy.   
  
Along with Prim's screams and Annie Cresta's, they find Gale's, and Ruth's, and many others I don't recognize. I think I even hear myself once. We sound like we're being tortured, and Finnick and Katniss are frantic to make it stop.  
  
These aren't birds you deal with by making your family laugh uproariously.  
  
Which isn't to say there isn't laughter.  
  
There's a lot of laughter. Much of it is nervous and frightened, but I hear some genuine guffaws from Claudius's audience. As Katniss and Finnick scream for their loved ones and collapse to the ground, covering their ears, live feeds of the loved ones are brought up on screen. Prim is yelling something, but she doesn't have sound. Gale is quickly removed from the picture when he makes a violent gesture at the cameraman. Annie Cresta keeps repeating Finnick's name and saying she's all right. Apparently, for some people, it is the height of hilarity to watch Katniss and Finnick mourning loved ones who aren't actually dead.  
  
One of the jabberjays flies right over Katniss, and I recognize my own voice again. Katniss screams my name, her voice hoarse and anguished.  
  
Claudius turns to me with a nasty grin. "Looks like the girl on fire has quite the _soft spot_ for her mentor, doesn't she?"  
  
Jack manages to grab my arm before I can raise a fist, preventing me from ending up in the cell next to Portia's in the holding center. "We all have a soft spot for Haymitch," he says, ignoring the subtext of Claudius's quip entirely.  
  
"I don't," Philo says. "I just met him."  
  
"And I think he's a pain in the ass," Harris adds.  
  
Jack rolls his eyes theatrically and mutters, "Careers."  
  
There's warmer laughter from the audience at this awkward bit of staging, though I can barely hear it over the screaming in the arena, and my sudden anger recedes enough to keep my head. It's no time to let Claudius get under my skin.  
  
 _Or_ to let the Gamemakers get to me. This is what they do.  
  
Though once the war is over, I think I'm going to get Plutarch a pet jabberjay to scream at him all night.  
  
Claudius tries to draw us out a few more times, making insinuations about Harris's mother, suggesting that Brutus mentored Philo in more than the Games, and even trotting out poor Mimi Meadowbrook, supposedly as an example of my carelessness with impressionable girls (even though Mimi was more than a year older than me, and exponentially more sophisticated than I was when we knew each other). This was couched as, "You always have been persuasive with the ladies." Luckily, on this topic, he has no real idea where to aim, and I'm able to largely ignore him.  
  
After about fifteen minutes, he gives up. The audience is bored with the action in the arena, which at this point consists of Katniss and Finnick crouching and screaming while Peeta pounds on the plastic barrier and Jo swears at the Gamemakers. There's no audio of the latter, of course, but it doesn't take much skill in lip reading to know what she's saying. Claudius dismisses us, and calls for the president of the Muttation Appreciation Society, who doesn't look happy as he's shoved out onto the stage as we're escorted off. The Games car runs the interview as we're driven back to the Viewing Center. It seems the M.A.S. is annoyed, complaining this is not the proper historical function of jabberjays, one of what he refers to as "the great classics" of genetic engineering. This segues into a documentary that the M.A.S. has made about jabberjays.   
  
I look at my handheld. Katniss's screen has a red light on it, indicating that it is temporarily impossible to send her a parachute, due to her circumstance in the arena. She wouldn't see it anyway, with her eyes squeezed shut. From the looks of Peeta, he wouldn't notice if a nuclear bomb went off beside him, he's so focused on trying to reassure Katniss without being able to reach her. It doesn’t seem to be having any effect. Jack shows me Jo's screen. She's frantically trying to break the barrier with her axe. It's no more effective than Peeta's strategy.  
  
When we get to the Viewing Center, the documentary is still playing, but none of the mentors are paying attention to it. Toffy has been watching our screens, and his district partner, Mindwell, is nearby, keeping an eye on Chaff and Earl. The Career mentors are in conference. Enobaria and Brutus have made a temporary truce to try and figure out what the issue is with our group. Luckily, Enobaria wins an argument, and they don't use the opportunity of the distraction to attack Peeta, Johanna, and Beetee, though I'm not sure why. By their usual Games strategy, it would be an ideal shot. Maybe they're gun shy after the Cornucopia. Or maybe Eno's tiny flicker of conscience is sending up flares. I don't know, and I don't care enough to guess.  
  
By the time the documentary is over, the wall has disappeared. I don't know how. I'm guessing it's generated in some way, like the forcefields, but I don't know enough about engineering to figure out how it works. I promise myself that we'll get Beetee out, and I'll get him to explain it.   
  
In the meantime, Peeta is holding Katniss, trying to convince her that the sounds were fabricated. Beetee backs him up convincingly enough. Johanna starts ranting about how it would cause an uprising to kill Prim, staring up at the aerial cameras as she does it, though there was no way this would make the airwaves. Even if it _weren't_ open treason, it's a new hour, and that means a new horror for the cameras to focus on.  
  
The main coverage goes to Chaff and Earl, who are waking up not far away to a swarm of tracker jackers.  
  
"Stay down," Chaff hisses. "We have these sons of bitches all over in Eleven. Someone hits a nest, they swarm. If they don't think we're the ones who disturbed them, we'll be fine. Just move slowly."  
  
"Move where?"  
  
"East," Chaff says.  
  
"They were screaming over there," Earl says. "I heard them. They were screaming, then they stopped."  
  
Chaff nods grimly. "Then west. We know what's there. Maybe we can get past the mutt. There's only one. I hope."  
  
Together, they start to crawl along the ground. The tracker jackers spot a tree rat and attack it, but move on. I don't know how they're going to track Chaff and Earl, but I don't trust them. They start to settle on their nests, on the trees, turning the jungle gold.  
  
"Don't touch anything," Chaff hisses, moving slowly and quietly toward the beach.  
  
They almost make it.  
  
At the last row of trees before the beach, Earl brushes the trunk of a tree. It's not much of a brush. But the wasps that now line the branches and leaves go deadly silent for a moment as the leaves shake, then explode down toward the jungle floor.  
  
Chaff gets to his feet and drags Earl.  
  
"Run! Run, dammit!"  
  
They manage to get to their feet, and Chaff almost makes the beach. The tracker jackers don't stop. Earl screams as he's stung. Chaff runs back and grabs him, taking a few stings in the process, pulling him further along the tree line. They should run for the water, but they're confused and in pain.  
  
They cross into the six o'clock zone, and the tracker jackers form a buzzing wall at the edge of their territory.  
  
Chaff starts pulling stings out of his arms and face. "You okay, Earl?"  
  
Earl grunts something. He looks up. Large pustules are swelling all over him. His eyes are wild with pain.  
  
Chaff reaches toward Earl and he screams, running off into the jungle.   
  
"Earl! Earl! Get back here!" But Chaff has taken stings as well, and he sinks to the sand, not unconscious, but close.  
  
Claudius comes on with his breathless details about how deadly tracker jackers are (this is accompanied by before-and-after images of Glimmer from last year), and reminds the audience that Chaff and Earl are now in the dragon's territory. Of course, the dragon has another half an hour or so before it wakes up, and they aren't doing anything interesting, so the main coverage cuts to analysis. On my little screens, I can see my team resting on the beach. They're planning to wait for the wave to pass through ten o'clock, then take that section of the beach. Peeta tells Katniss about Annie Cresta. I guess Katniss wasn't paying much attention to the Games that year, given that her father had just died.  
  
"Do you mind if I take a nap?" Effie asks. "It's been a long day."  
  
Selfishly, I almost ask her to stay up. I don't like Chaff being almost helpless, half an hour away from the dragon attack. If he dies, I don't know if I could stand being alone. But Effie looks exhausted, and the night ahead is going to be as long as the day has been. I squeeze her hand and say, "That's fine. When do you want me to wake you up?"  
  
"Whenever you can't keep your eyes open," she says. "Or if..." She looks at Chaff on Toffy's screen. "Well, if something happens, and you need me." She sees some out of place curl on my head that annoys her, and moves it to a new position. "You come get me if something happens."  
  
I nod, and she gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before disappearing into the lounge. I'll send for her if something happens to Chaff, but I don't think I'll feel like sleeping for a long time. My head is swimming, but I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. My mind is on Chaff, and the kids, and Finnick and Jo and Beetee. Beside me, Toffy is trying to arrange to have some medicine sent in, since the jungle plants aren't ones Chaff would know from home. Finally, I see a parachute go down. Plutarch has that stuff at the ready and wasn't supposed to be waiting for real sponsors. It should have been immediate.  
  
Unless that's just for Katniss and Peeta. It never occurred to me that Plutarch might not be seeing to everyone's needs, but, thinking about it, it seems plausible.  
  
Chaff puts the medication on his stings and starts calling for Earl. The sound attracts the attention of Brutus and Enobaria, who are on the eight o'clock wedge. They venture into the next one when suddenly there is a screech from the jungle. A blast of flame comes up through the canopy. Brutus jumps back, swearing.  
  
The coverage goes to Earl, swollen and crazy, wielding a stick like a sword. "Come on!" he yells. "Come on if you're coming! Took on a buncha your grandfathers, and I can take you!"  
  
He can't.  
  
The dragon swoops down from the treetops and grabs an arm and a leg in its talons, and his head with its giant beak. With a sickening ripping sound, Earl is torn to pieces. The cannon sounds. A couple of tables down, I hear Mindwell Larue choke back a sob. She heads for the booths.  
  
Chaff runs east, back to the now quiet tracker jacker wedge. He frowns at a silent nest, then light dawns. He understands the arena.  
  
Coverage comes back to the studio. "And now," Claudius says quietly, "we are down to our final eight, more than half of whom are in the power alliance of districts Three, Four, Seven, and Twelve. Also remaining, Chaff Leary of District Eleven, and our District Two tributes, Brutus Emmett and Enobaria Fells. Our production teams are interviewing their families now. Let's bring out our analysts..."  
  
The analysts appear on cue. Most expect that Enobaria, Brutus, and Chaff will be dead soon, and the final act of the Games will be a full on fight to the death among the members of the alliance. Beetee is counted out as a contender because of his wounds, and Peeta because of his reluctance to kill, though it would be exciting, they intimate, if he and Katniss fight, so we can see the duel we were denied last year. On the street, weeping Capitol citizens remind reporters that Katniss is pregnant, so she has to be saved somehow. After all, the Games are meant to kill twenty-three, not twenty-four. The same people then start to argue about why Peeta should be saved (he will be a good parent and he already loves the baby so much), or why Johanna should be (she's lost enough, and she's a young woman with her life ahead of her), or why Finnick should be (he's been so kind to the others, and he's so loving). It's becoming increasingly clear that the responders on the street aren't processing the questions they're being asked -- unlike other years, they simply can't seem to pick a favorite or analyze anyone's strengths or weaknesses as a player.  
  
I go over to the shadowy lounge off to the side, where the mentors of fallen tributes -- at least the ones who stayed -- are talking quietly. The District One mentors, Miracle Brea and Wealthy Gibson, aren't really watching the Games. They've just gotten off the phone with Gloss and Cashmere's parents, and are drowning whatever feelings they have at the bottom of very large cocktails. Mindwell is still on the phone with Earl's family. I hope his grandkids didn't see too much of what happened to him. The mentors for Five and Nine are playing a lazy game of cards. A few other victors mill around, as usual. No one is paying attention to the commentators. Security guards are standing against the wall, looking bored.  
  
They've just cut away to an interview with a young man in a Peacekeeper's uniform, identified as Enobaria's brother, when Cinnamon Calabray -- one of the mentors for Two this year -- shouts, "Hey, Abernathy! You order up some company?"  
  
"Not allowed in the viewing center!" someone else calls. "Not unless there's enough for everyone."  
  
I frown and look out of the shadowy lounge, so I can get a view of the entrance. Tazzy Vole is standing at the door of the viewing center, wearing a short trench coat and heavy makeup. She looks considerably older than she did at the street fair. All I can see of her outfit is a pair of very high heels. Her hair is in an exaggerated clip-on braid with flame-shaped designs in it, and one of the guards is playfully grabbing at her. "I'm a _sponsor_!" she declares, indignant. "I'm sponsoring District Twelve!"  
  
This gets cruel-sounding laughs, and a few catcalls from locals saying, "Sure you are, honey! Wanna sponsor me later?"  
  
I go up to her, put a firm hand on her elbow to lead her away, and say, "She _is_ a sponsor. She and her sister are sponsoring Katniss." I speak to her deliberately with the same formal tone I'd use for a rich old woman. "Did you need something, Miss Vole? Please come over."  
  
She straightens her shoulders and follows me to the District Twelve table, glaring at the attendants and mentors who leer at her. Finally, she sits down in Effie's vacated chair and says, "Nice friends you've got here."  
  
" _These_ are my friends," I say, pointing to the other alliance mentors, who are giving her exaggeratedly polite smiles (Jack's with no small degree of sympathy). "What did you need?"  
  
She looks around quickly, then whispers, "Junie got herself tanked to check on Portia."  
  
It takes a minute for me to understand this. "Wait... Juniper's in jail?" I shake my head. "You kids need to stop doing this. I didn't call Aurelian to ask him to head up an errand squad. Especially errands that land you in jail."  
  
Tazzy brushes this off impatiently. "Just a two-day thing. It's not the first time she's been there. I went to visit her. She saw Portia this morning in the yard. Portia's all right, except that they're making her wear district clothes." Tazzy smiles nervously. "The problem is, they're going to have the hearing tomorrow morning. If Effie Trinket doesn't clear up her status, they'll send her back to District Three... or... well..." She bites her lip. "Junie says that Portia told her there were accidents that might happen."  
  
"Tomorrow?" I repeat.  
  
Tazzy nods and leans forward. "Is Effie Trinket here? She has to come!" The coat opens enough that I can see she's wearing something black and sparkly with flame patterns on it. I hate the Capitol. I hate the people who thought I would order this as "company." I hate the men who do pay her for it. I don't hate Tazzy. It's probably the best money she'll make all year.  
  
For a minute, I try to figure out how to put it off. If it could wait until after the Games, when there's not so much going on, when Effie could take care of things like she always does.  
  
Then it strikes me again, as it did the day I walked away from my conversation with Plutarch: There is no "after the Games" this year, and the end could come at any time. If Portia is still in jail, she's dead. And if Effie isn't with me, I don't know what will happen to her. I can't very well kidnap her and put her on a transport to Thirteen if she's down in the Justice Building with Portia. But if she doesn't get Portia out of there…  
  
It either has to be midnight or noon. I keep that in mind. There's time. If she can just get it done by noon.  
  
"Wait here," I say, and get up to go find Effie. Jack Anderson strikes up a conversation with Tazzy about hairpieces, and starts showing her the little bits he has clipped into his for texture.  
  
In the lounge, I have to check a few of the beds before I find the one where Effie is sleeping. I open the curtains. She is curled up neatly, her knees tucked up against her chest, sleeping in her clothes. Her shoes have been set neatly into a box in the headboard. She's slept in her wig -- she wouldn't risk having to get up quickly without it -- but it's a bit askew, and, I think for the first time, I see a bit of her natural hair. It's a kind of strawberry blond, and even as short as it is, I can see it trying to curl beside her ear. I reach over and smooth it down, suddenly not wanting to wake her, wanting time to stop long enough for me to figure out what to do.  
  
She opens her eyes and blinks at me calmly, then sits bolt upright and straightens her wig unconsciously. "Haymitch! What is it? Is it Chaff? The children?"  
  
"No." I shake my head. "We lost Earl, but Chaff and the kids are still all right." I watch as she tucks the last curl under her wig, and becomes fully Effie again. "Someone to see you," I tell her. "About Portia."  
  
"Oh. Oh, my, who is it? What's happening?"  
  
I answer her questions as well as I can while she straightens herself out and gets her shoes on. By the time we get outside, Toffy has had one of the attendants bring his long overcoat for Tazzy, and Harris, for some reason, has given her his fisherman's cap. Jack has undone her fake braid and clipped in a few of his orange and yellow extensions. The braid is curled up on the table like a snake. She and Philo are engaged in a conversation about concealer.  
  
Effie goes to her and says, "Tell me what's happened, dear."  
  
Tazzy tells her what she and Juniper learned, editing a bit about their particular crime (she claims shoplifting), though I doubt even Effie is fooled. "So I just came to tell you," she says. "You have to be there first thing in the morning, or they'll just... I don't know. I've heard of them starting things at five, just so people don't get there in time, and you'll have to have the papers filled out and everything in order and -- "  
  
"Of course I'll be there," Effie says. "Haymitch, I need to go home and get a change of clothes before the hearing, and get my paperwork done. All of my documents are at home. I'll sleep there, but you know how to reach me there -- "  
  
"I'd rather you came back here. You can bring your documents, and we'll get things in order."  
  
"It's better if I do it where I can reach everything I need. You'll be all right. Chaff's past the place where the clock is ticking, and so are the children." She turns to Tazzy. "You can come with me, honey," she says. "We'll get you a good night's sleep, and you can wash up, and I'll have a dress for you to wear tomorrow if you'd like to come with me and get your friend out."  
  
Tazzy bites her lip again, then says, timidly, "Could my little sister come? I left her with a friend tonight." I don't know what her game plan is, but I have a feeling that she knows something is going on, and is trying to at least get pieces in one place. Maybe she has some notion of keeping Effie safe. It's all I can think of.  
  
"Of course she can come! We'll have a girls' night," Effie says.  
  
I pull her aside. "Effie, I wish you wouldn't spend the night away."  
  
"I know, but you can call in a speller if you need sleep. I'm sure someone could help. With your alliance -- "  
  
"It's not about that," I say. "I just... I want you here. Portia, too, as soon as you get her out. Even if her hair is a mess."  
  
"I can't do anything for Portia until tomorrow morning," Effie says. "The courts aren't open during mandatory viewing. And Haymitch..." She lowers her voice and looks at Tazzy. "That girl shouldn't be out on the street dressed like that."  
  
"Well, she's, um..."  
  
"I know what she is," Effie says. "And we both know she shouldn't be."  
  
Since I've said the same thing, I can hardly argue. Effie knows it. She's heard my diatribes about Cray over the years, not to mention Finnick and Jack's "social" lives.. "I know," I say miserably.  
  
She gives me a puzzled look, and I can't help it. I pull her to me and hold her tight. I don't know why. She smells like the sweet, expensive perfume she uses on her wigs. She hugs me back, then pulls away, looking even more confused, which I really can't blame her for now. Even I'm not sure what I'm doing. "Everything will be okay, Haymitch," she says, and gives me a kiss on the cheek, running her thumb over the spot to wipe off her lipstick. "Don't worry."  
  
I catch her hand and hold it. "Be careful, Effie. I mean it."  
  
"All right," she says, and disentangles herself. She starts to take a step away, then, very suddenly, she turns back, puts her arms around my neck, and kisses me. It's not a comforting peck on the cheek. It's the way she kissed me that day at the lake -- spontaneous, full, and warm. It's so quick, and I'm so completely unprepared for it, that I can't even begin to fight it. Every defense I've carefully built up over the years falls without the slightest protest.  
  
I try to break away, but I can't. As soon as my lips leave hers, I lean in again, pulling her closer to me. I can't seem to get close enough. Finally, I have to pull back for a breath. I lean against her, forehead to forehead, but I don't raise my eyes to look at her. "I want you to stay," I say.  
  
Her warm hands come up to my cheeks, and she makes me look up. Her face is flushed. "I can't stay right now," she says, then gives me another quick kiss. "Portia needs me there. But when I come back… I'll stay with you." Another kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow. I promise."  
  
She takes a step back, out of my arms, and I'm suddenly very aware of the people around us, watching all of this. I feel strangely naked. Effie is trembling a little. She turns away firmly and leads Tazzy out of the Viewing Center.  
  
I sit down, trying to re-orient myself to the Games.  
  
At least I didn't make her cry this time, though I guess that's right ahead of us if I kidnap her away from the Capitol. Unless she really does know what's going on. If that's what she meant when she said she was willing to stay with me. I hold on to that idea, and just keep my fingers crossed that she can take care of things tonight, get Portia here, and be ready to leave when we are.  
  
Philo is looking at me curiously.   
  
"Mind your business," I tell him.  
  
He shrugs and complies. Harris rolls his eyes. Toffy smirks. I'm very glad that the reporters aren't allowed in here anymore. I don't want to catch the recap on screen, though I'm pretty sure I'll be recapping in my head for a while.  
  
I force my mind away from it. I can't let this under my skin any more than I could let Claudius under. We're too close to the end now.  
  
At seven, Chaff, who's been wandering -- bored, probably -- finds himself in a fog and surrounded by harsh hissing noises. Claudius describes it as total sensory deprivation. It is obviously horrible for him, but not interesting to the audience, as they go back to my team, where Katniss is having a swim and Finnick is weaving a basket. Peeta is talking to Beetee about some invention he saw in District Three, and Johanna is throwing axes.  
  
At eight, Brutus and Enobaria discover that the vines in their part of the forest are intertwined with mutt snakes, which wake up right on schedule. They have obviously figured out the clock -- or at least that the threats are moving in a circular direction -- because they run counter-clockwise into the wedge where Chaff is still trying to recover from the last hour's torture. He spots them before they spot him, and runs for the dragon's lair.  
  
At nine, they show the day's dead. I want Effie here to whisper like she did yesterday, but she's gone. We've lost two thirds of the tributes, which Johanna notes with disgust.  
  
The first shipment of District Three bread comes. They count the rolls. Twenty four. I'm guessing that the rescue craft will be there at midnight tomorrow, since there wouldn't be much warning for tonight.  
  
Whether they can survive another day is a different question altogether.   
  
After the wave passes at ten, they cut across to the ten o'clock wedge and make camp on the beach. Katniss and Peeta take the first watch together, and Peeta brings up the one thing I wish he wouldn't -- not because I think they shouldn't know, which I'm long past and wishing I'd told them everything down to the name of the rescue craft -- but because there are people in the Capitol who will realize I don't mean to keep either of the two promises he brings up: the promise to let him die for her, or the promise to let her die for him. They are, of course, on the live broadcast. Last year, if they'd decided to be this honest with each other, I'd have been delighted. Now, it could be a disaster.  
  
It looks like it's the first time it's occurred to Katniss that I might have lied to her.  
  
Peeta tries to get her to agree to let him die by showing her that his district token is a locket. I have no idea what's in it, and none of the cameras get a shot of it. Whatever it is, Katniss doesn't like it.  
  
"Your family needs you, Katniss," he tells her. "No one really needs me."  
  
Katniss looks at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, and I think that -- at this late moment -- she's actually figuring out what everyone around her has known for a very long time. "I do," she says. "I need you."  
  
"But you -- " Peeta begins, but she doesn't give him a chance to finish. She kisses him desperately, pushing him down into the sand, petting him, holding him.  
  
I look away from all of the screens. This isn't my business. It's no one else's business, either, but there it is, live. I wish I could turn away my ears as well, since I swear they've turned the volume up on their microphones to catch every slurp. I have no interest whatsoever in what will happen when she discovers he can't do much more than give an empty promise right now. Around me, several of the mentors and attendants, including Jack, of all people, are hooting and hollering and cheering Katniss on.  
  
Thankfully, the clockwork of Plutarch's arena is still working and when the lightning breaks their concentration on each other, it also wakes Finnick. Embarrassed, he offers to take the watch for both of them so they can "get some rest" together, but Peeta refuses, and promises to come back to take a watch.  
  
He carries Katniss off to the shelters and tells her she'll be a good mother, then comes out to sit with Finnick as she drifts off.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt," Finnick says.  
  
"It's okay," Peeta says. "Some things really aren't for the whole country to watch, anyway."  
  
Finnick pulls his knees up and looks out across the water. "She really loves you."  
  
Peeta gives him a guarded look. "She's my wife."  
  
"When you hit that forcefield, I thought she was going to go crazy."  
  
Peeta doesn't say anything, though I can see him turning over this idea in his head, this notion that Katniss actually loves him. He can't very well say anything about it with the cameras rolling and most of Panem not thinking that there's the slightest doubt about it. He changes the subject. "So, fishing..."  
  
"Fishing?"  
  
"Yeah. Do you fish from a boat, or just with nets on the beach, or..."  
  
Finnick laughs. "Fishing. You want to talk fishing."  
  
"I've never been fishing. I have no idea how it's done."  
  
Finnick tries to answer, then starts laughing again.  
  
"What?" Peeta asks.  
  
"It's just... I just interrupted... and you want to know about _fishing_?"  
  
Peeta catches the laugh. "Well, I don't actually need lessons in anything else right now."  
  
They try to carry on a conversation about fishing, but Finnick manages to lace it with so many double-entendres involving spears that they're both cracking up on the sand, and most of us watching are laughing as well. Finally, they taper down to an occasional hiccup of laughter, and Peeta says, "Haymitch told me you're one of his other kids."  
  
"He did?" Finnick asks. He looks pleased. I wonder where Peeta is going with this.  
  
"Yeah. When he said you should be our ally. What's the story there?"  
  
"What is it with you and stories?" Finnick asks.  
  
Peeta shrugs. "I just like them. They tell you who a person is. I never heard you tell one on television."  
  
This is true. Finnick played his games with his pretty face, not his compelling narrative, and he's been close-mouthed about his life since, for good reason.  
  
"I'm not much of a storyteller," Finnick says.  
  
"Okay," Peeta says. "I just wondered."  
  
I figure this will be the end of it, but after about half a minute, Finnick says, "I was fifteen the first year I was a mentor."  
  
"Didn't District Four have any older mentors?"  
  
"Yeah. But the Gamemakers had a special request for me to be the mentor for the boy. I guess people wanted to see me again."  
  
"Well, who could blame them?" Peeta asks.  
  
"Who, indeed?" Finnick looks up at the moon, and for a minute, I'm afraid he's going to feel it necessary to follow Peeta's lead and tell his entire story. He shouldn't have to air that. He doesn't. Instead, he says, "My tribute was three years older than me. Really, they were my age or older until Annie's year. Mags traded with me because she thought Annie'd listen to me more." He shakes his head. "Anyway, I didn't know anything about how to mentor. Haymitch was in the same boat when he started, so he kind of looked after me. Taught me how to work the sponsor boards and keep my paperwork in order and all of that stupid stuff. And when I lost my tribute, he... he helped me."  
  
What I did was guard the door and keep off the cameras while he wept for an hour and a half in a broom closet, but of course, that's not the sort of thing you say in the arena. I never stopped a single bad thing from happening to him. I've never understood why he gives that one thing so much importance.  
  
Peeta, on the other hand, seems to understand perfectly. "So you've just stuck around with him."  
  
"Yeah. There've been a few other times I've needed help. He's always there. He's not always the most pleasant person to be around, but you can trust him. You know that, right?" He twists my bracelet around, and it catches the light of the strange moon. "You should trust him."  
  
Peeta is quiet for a long time, then says, "I do."  
  
They don't talk anymore.  
  
I excuse myself to get some sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the time for the rebellion draws nearer, Haymitch notices security becoming tighter in the Capitol.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**  
I lie awake for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular, letting my mind drift.  
  
Effie drifts across a lot. I want her here. This isn't _entirely_ innocent of physical desire -- that comes over me in intense waves now that I'm on my own, and I can almost feel her smooth skin under my fingertips -- but it's just a strong undertow in a much bigger current. I don't know _what_ I'm thinking about, really. I just let the sense of her wander through my mind, trailing the sweet, expensive perfume behind it, winding through a strange labyrinth that my mind is conjuring.  
  
 _What are you trying to tell yourself, Haymitch?_ my mother asks.  
  
I push it away. I don't know what I'm trying to tell myself, or let myself know. I don't even know what I'm trying to figure out. Everything is out of my hands right now. The flood is coming. I'm just trying to keep as many people afloat as I can, but I don't even know how to reach them.  
  
Finnick and Peeta, on the beach. _He's not always the most pleasant person to be around, but you can trust him._   
  
Danny, at home. Sitting in the ruins of my childhood home and telling me that he knew I was never bringing his boy back.   
  
District Twelve. I try to dredge up my usual share of distaste for it, try to remember Hazelle and her gang pushing me around on the Seam, but I can't do it. I'm never going back, and I can't really focus on that any more than I can focus on Effie. It's a strange, nebulous idea, and it's terrifying in ways I never expected.   
  
For twenty-five years, I've had two lives. They've both been pretty lousy, but I've had them. Here in the Capitol, I'm a victor, a freak of nature that people fawn over for reasons I've never quite understood. I'm a mentor, and that role, I understand better. That's where I've met the best and worst of the Capitol. I know the streets and the restaurants and the clubs here, and where many of the secret lines of power lead. I have friends here, and I know it.  
  
In District Twelve, I'm the miserable old drunk who sometimes emerges from Victors' Village to take two kids to the Capitol to die. But I'm also Haymitch, that upstart kid from the Seam, rejected by his neighbors for being uppity and most of his classmates for being dirt poor and filthy. But I'm also Danny Mellark's friend, and Hazelle's… something. I don't know what. I have my house, and now that she's got it in shape, I like it. I have Mimi's statue in my attic, holding my Victor's crown, and the books hidden beneath my floorboards, which I guess I'll never see again. I have my parents' quilt, made from old clothes, their endearments to each other written on its squares. I have everyone who has been a part of me there, generations of family with coal dust permanently embedded in their skin, gray eyes looking out from the mists of the past. I've never thought much about it, but I do now.  
  
I should have at least brought Daddy's dictionary, with so many of their names written in it. I should have brought pictures of my friends, and the painting Peeta made of Katniss and me in District Eleven.  
  
I couldn't very well do it.  
  
Both of my lives are over, or will be soon -- maybe within hours, certainly within days. I've climbed the hanging tree after all. Maybe Gia wouldn't mind this one.  
  
I realize that I'm asleep when I find myself back in Twelve, wandering around like a haunt. No one alive seems to be able to see me, but the dead are waving cheerfully enough. Mom and Lacklen are sitting on the bakery porch with Danny's parents (Danny himself is gray and hard to see, walking among them without seeing them). Maysilee is carving something on the whipping post. I know that it's "M.D. loves D12," because I saw it when I was tied up there, before Gia came to rescue me. At the thought of her, she appears, her red hair gleaming brightly, seeming to glow, the way bright things do in the gray. She is carrying a garment bag, and I know that inside of it is the red dress she's brought for me to bury Digger in.  
  
"I like my dress."  
  
I turn. I haven't heard this voice for a long time, at least not like this. Not normal, and soft, and good-natured. She sounds like she did when we were kids, camping in my back yard to try and keep cool in the summer.  
  
Digger.  
  
She's not in the red dress, though she's looking at it wistfully. She's wearing old jeans and a threadbare top, which is suddenly in my hands. She's wearing my own discarded shirt now, and we're in the ruins by the lake, still flushed and a little bit drunk on what we've finally given to each other. Her top smells like Effie's perfume, but otherwise, she's Digger -- not the grotesque thing I've been torturing myself with lately, but the real girl, the girl I loved before the Games took everything. I think I even have the exact color of her eyes right, that wild, pale gray that's almost white, and I can see what she used to tie her hair back. It's the string from a bag of tessera grain.   
  
No, three of them. They're braided together. I can see that as she puts it back on. I'd gotten my hand tangled in it earlier, and I'd sworn at it and pulled it away, catching it on her ear and generally making a complete botch of the moment. She'd started laughing, then I'd caught it, and neither of us could stop completely. How had I forgotten that? In all the years since, though I've thought of that day at the lake, I've never remembered that we were laughing -- somewhat madly -- as we made love. It seems like the sort of thing I should have remembered. The laughter has faded now that we're finished, but I still feel good. The scent of us being together is around me, and so is that other scent, the spicy, expensive scent that's the only thing reminding me that all of this is a dream.  
  
She secures the string and finger-combs her hair around it, looking out at the lake. "People used to come out here before they built the fence," she says. "It was for vacations." She says the last word carefully. It's a foreign, exotic word, full of power. "Glen Everdeen's family used to own it all."  
  
I stretch out and look toward the sole remaining whole building, a tiny concrete shack on the far shore. "Glen's full of crap," I say, as I really did that day, and my dreaming mind wonders how in the world the Everdeens, who were never a regular part of my life before Katniss, ended up a topic of discussion that day of all days, and why I'm remembering it so specifically. _What are you telling yourself?_  
  
"Maybe. But it's what he told Ryland Headley." She sighs, and a mockingjay picks up the sound of it, sending it echoing through the woods. I shiver. "We weren't always poor, though," she says. "And this _didn't_ belong to the Capitol. It belonged to us before the fence went up."  
  
"Well, to Glen, anyway."  
  
She turns and gives me that little smile she sometimes had, half amusement, half irritation. "Why are you such a miserable cynic, Haymitch? This place has everything we'd need to get by. Maybe the fence will come down, and we could have one of these houses to fix up. And a vacation to spend in it." She sits down beside me and puts her hand on my face. "Or a life."  
  
"You'd spend your life with a miserable cynic?"  
  
"If he wanted me to. And if I don't end up speared into the ground at the Cornucopia."  
  
I think about this and say, "He wants you to. But we should wait until we're both past Reaping age before we talk about it."  
  
She nods, then I kiss her and tell her that I love her. It is the last time I will say it to another person -- the goodbyes at the Justice Building two days later will never get around to it -- but I don't know it at the time. I only know that she's my girl, and I want the afternoon to last forever. It doesn't. It is almost over already.  
  
I don't know why I'm here, what this place has to offer. It's just more drifting, but I don't want to leave. I let myself drift with her, listen to her laugh, then walk back to the District with her. She disappears under the fence, but when I try to follow, the world turns to white fog. She looks back once, and I see her eyes clearly, then I'm alone. The boy I was then is gone, and I'm here now, in a plush bed in the mentors' lounge.  
  
I open my eyes into the dim room. My mind pieces the message together quickly enough -- like Digger said, the lake has everything we'd need to survive if the fence comes down -- but it's a totally useless dispatch from my subconscious. I can't very well _tell_ anyone in Twelve to get out there if the Capitol decides to retaliate. I've never given that bit of information to anyone, and I can't think who'd guess it. If I was trying to figure anything else out, it's still escaping me.  
  
I lie in bed for a long time, my head pounding, wanting to drink again.  
  
I manage to chew two dry detox tablets, which take the edge off the physical craving, but do nothing about the mental desire to disappear into the bottom of the biggest shot of white liquor I can find. I want to open a bottle and smell the sharp, dizzying fumes, let them stab into my brain with a promise of more to come. The bottle always keeps its promises.  
  
I get up and dress carelessly. All I need to worry about from here on out is whether or not I can move.  
  
Nothing seems to be happening when I get out. Philo tells me that I slept through a description of Beetee's plan, which will involve electrocuting Brutus and Enobaria using the lightning tree and Beetee's spool of wire. "Can't really explain how, though," he says. "And I don't think the rest of the alliance gets it, either."  
  
"Beetee will tell them what to do when the time comes," I say.  
  
"Half the audience probably figures that he's planning to electrocute _them_ instead," Philo says. "Think about it: He gets all of his allies holding on to that wire, then, bam. There they go. Maybe he could get Enobaria and Brutus, too, and then it's just him with Chaff."  
  
I hope Philo knows that's not really the plan, though as Beetee's mentor in this, it will make for good television if anyone asks him.  
  
I hope _Beetee_ knows that it's not really the plan. Everyone in our alliance is a killer, even Peeta. If Beetee starts to feel cornered, if the arena really starts getting to him, he'll start to feel vulnerable. There's not much I'd put past him if he feels cornered, and there never has been.  
  
Jack leans forward. "They're talking about breaking away, Haymitch," Jack says. "Katniss and Peeta. Katniss wanted to go this morning, but Peeta told her they should wait until the alliance is finished with District Two."  
  
"Great," I say. "Just perfect." On screen, the alliance is climbing up toward the lightning tree, and Katniss does, in point of fact, look mutinous. "Did the bread come?" I ask Philo.  
  
"Twenty-four rolls again. I guess twenty-four is the number to bet on."  
  
In other words, Plutarch's figured out that they'll be pulled out at midnight, not noon... though technically, I think that should be zero, not twenty-four. I guess it would be a little abstract to send zero rolls. That's a lot of hours left to kill.  
  
Katniss hunts while Beetee works on the tree. There's some discussion of whatever is inhabiting the eleven o'clock wedge, leading to Claudius breathlessly describing giant flesh-eating beetles with the appetite of schools of piranha, a fish he's apparently just learned about, and I can see his annoyance that the Gamemakers failed to put any in the water.  
  
Chaff sleeps off his tracker jacker stings, with the poison sapped out much more quickly by the medicine. He is in the sensory deprivation wedge, but it won't be active for quite a long time. Hopefully, he'll find his way to the alliance soon.  
  
Brutus and Enobaria are spying from the edge of the jungle, speculating on what Beetee is planning, but not doing much else.  
  
In other words, there's nothing for anyone to watch. I am not surprised when I'm called to Caesar Flickerman's studio for a retrospective interview. There are very few things I enjoy less than recalling previous Games, my own least of all, but I figure that it's probably better than giving the Capitol a chance to analyze Beetee's plan too carefully. I have a feeling it wouldn't stand up to an electrician's examination.  
On the street, I see that security is getting tight. Peacekeepers are putting on demonstrations in the city center. I guess the inability of Capitol citizens to fully back the Quell is starting to get under Snow's nerves.  
  
Caesar greets me cheerfully in the prep room, where he's being carefully done up to look "casual." I'm allowed to take a shower, and given a change of clothes, though Peeta's preps are not here to get me ready. I bring this up to Caesar, who frowns.  
  
"That's strange," he says. "I did send for them."  
  
I hope that Fulvia has decided to bring them, along with Katniss's team, after all, but I can hardly say that. "What are we talking about today?" I ask.  
  
"I wanted to talk about Cinna's creations for Katniss, but unfortunately, I've been instructed to avoid upsetting anyone by mentioning his accident."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Do you know what really happened?" he says.  
  
"Do you?"  
  
He shakes his head. "I'm not as connected as you think I am."  
  
I somehow doubt this, but say, "All right."  
  
"Instead, I thought we'd talk about Seeder and Cecelia, and some of the others you've been friends with."  
  
"You haven't been instructed to avoid that, too?"  
  
"I always talk about the fallen tributes. No reason not to do it this year. In fact, I have a great deal more footage than usual -- talents, interviews, Victory Tours. Things seem to be slow in the arena. I think we'll show them all."  
  
More rubbing people's faces in it. Good.  
  
"Do you have pictures of Cecelia's kids?" I ask.  
  
"She's sent them to me every year. And I have Seeder with the dance classes she used to give in District Eleven. I think little Rue may even be in one of those from a few years ago; we'll have to double-check."  
  
It will hurt -- I know it will hurt -- but I'm not the only one who'll feel it. I go with him, and we spend most of the afternoon talking about my late friends. There is, indeed, a picture of Rue taking a dance lesson from Seeder in an old barn. They're both smiling beautifully. Cecelia's children look happy and comfortable in their mother's arms. Earl is riding a horse with one of his grandchildren. A stunningly beautiful young Mags lounges by the sea, whispering to a friend. Both of them are in revealing two-piece swimsuits, and young men in the background are watching them appreciatively. Caesar even dredges up a picture of Duronda Carson, laughing with a master chef while she tries to teach him how to make an apple layer cake.  
  
Now and then, he cuts to live interviews on the street. People are completely broken. They can't even seem to respond to the hovering presence of Peacekeepers, even when they're too close to stay out of the shot.  
  
Good. It's what I wanted. I remind myself of that when a little boy, asked if he's rooting for Finnick or Peeta, sits down on the curb and starts to weep.  
  
At around three, Caesar is instructed to close out the show immediately.  
  
He offers me a ride back to the Viewing Center. It's walking distance, but the press is gathered in the media area like an army. As we ride, he says, "My car isn't bugged. What in the hell is going on? What's happening with the bread?"  
  
I don't answer. I doubt that Caesar is spying for Snow, but this close to the end-game, I’m not taking chances.  
  
"I know how your hints work in the arena, Haymitch. Even starving people don't pay as much attention to bread as your team has been paying."  
  
"Caesar, there are things it's better you don't know."  
  
"And Beetee knows his plan won't work. No one raised in a District Three school would be fooled. Or a District Five school, for that matter."  
  
"How would you know?"  
  
"I work with electronics all day, Haymitch."  
  
"How do you know what they learn in a District Three or Five school?"  
  
He smiles. "Haymitch, there are things it's better you don't know."  
  
"They're going to deport Portia to District Three. If she survives jail. Effie's trying to sponsor her to keep her here."  
  
Caesar slows the car. "Portia is in jail?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Just before we turn down the street toward the Viewing Center garage, Caesar says, quietly, "I'll do what I can for who's left, Haymitch."  
  
"No one's going to be left," I say. "Including you, if you don't want to be. You can't have made many friends with that little show."  
  
He smiles oddly and pulls into the unloading area. "Haymitch, you'll kill me before you drag me to the districts. Be careful who you trust."  
  
He unlocks the door and lets me out. I watch him drive away, then go inside. Several of the extra Peacekeepers seem to be taking a break in our lounge, drinking at the bar and watching the Games with Capitol attendants and defeated mentors.  
  
When I get back to my station, Peeta is cleaning out an oyster. He finds a pearl in it and says, in a deeply serious tone, "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls."  
  
Katniss laughs fondly, and I think of Effie. It's late afternoon. Effie should be back by now, with Portia or without her. How long can a hearing take?  
  
"Hey, Harris," I say. "Have you seen Effie? Has she called?"  
  
"Why? You lonely?" Philo teases.  
  
"She's just supposed to be at a hearing for Portia. I didn't think it would take this long."  
  
"The hearing's probably over," Harris says. "But it'll take her a year to sign papers. You know the Capitol and paperwork."  
  
Jack, who's eating a late lunch out on the floor, waves a roll of District Three bread in Harris's direction, and he seems to realize what I'm worried about. He doesn't have anything else to say, though -- what can be said?  
  
I tell myself that it's Effie, and she probably went home to get another silly wig, but I can't make myself believe it. Not after she kissed me. She'd want to get back. I try her home phone. There's no answer. I consider sending Aurelian, but that would be risky for him. If he's running an errand for me right before we break out, it'll be a huge target on his back. All I can do is wait. I put down the phone.  
  
Peeta gives Katniss the pearl. She accepts it like a wedding ring. Peeta does not miss the change in her expression. "The locket didn't work, did it?" he asks. "Katniss?"  
  
"It worked," Katniss says.  
  
"But not the way I wanted it to."  
  
They don't say any more. Harris sends in another shipment of District Three bread. Still at twenty-four. Still on schedule for midnight. Mostly to amuse myself by making the Gamemakers jump through hoops -- and to take my mind off of Effie and Portia -- I have them send down some cocktail sauce for the shellfish that they're gathering. It's a hit.  
  
I have less than eight hours now.  
  
They go very slowly. Six o'clock passes, and Chaff makes his way backward, wending his way through the dragon's lair and into the tracker jacker area. All is quiet. Enobaria and Brutus are tracing the edge of the arena now, working their way to the back of the wedges where the alliance is working. I have no way to get a message to Katniss to watch her back, so I hope she remembers.  
  
There is still no sign of Effie or Portia, or Peeta's prep team. I try to call Effie again. The courts are closed for the day. She doesn't pick up. I want to go to her apartment right now, but I can't. It's all supposed to happen at midnight, but I can't shake the feeling that something is in the process of going wrong.   
  
I try to find an excuse to talk to Plutarch, but when I go upstairs to meet with the Gamemakers, one of his apprentices talks to me, and complains that Plutarch has been in his office all day. Apparently, he only comes out to bark orders, then disappears. I don't like the sound of it. I think again about the Peacekeepers outside.  
  
At nine, my team clears off to the twelve o'clock wedge and Beetee starts wiring the lightning tree. So far, so good... until I realize, a little after eleven, that they mean to separate Peeta and Katniss.  
  
"It's because she tried to run," Philo tells me quietly. "Johanna and Beetee talked about it while you were off at Caesar's. They're afraid the two of them will bolt, and then they'll be harder to keep track of."  
  
"They'll be crazy and running all over looking for each other this way!"  
  
"Do you want to send a message?"  
  
I can't think how I would. If it were Katniss's idea, I could probably come up with something, but trying to send messages to Beetee is a completely useless exercise if they're not in his plan, and Johanna would ignore them.  
  
And there's still the matter of Effie.  
  
I pick up the phone to call her one more time, and discover that it's dead. It hasn't rung for hours, but I haven't paid any attention to it. I haven't heard anyone else's phones ringing since around eight. "Harris," I say, "pick up your phone."  
  
Puzzled, he does. "It's dead," he says.  
  
Philo checks his, stands up, and calls, "Who's having phone troubles?"  
  
My eyes follow his motion, and that's when I see them, really see them, for the first time: Peacekeepers. They aren't on a break. They aren't catching their breath in the lounge. They are armed and wary. And they are blocking the exits.  
  
As Katniss and Johanna start to go down the hill, one of the Peacekeepers raises a whistle, and the others stand at attention, weapons at the ready. They step forward.  
  
"What's going on?" a District Two mentor demands. "I've lost my phone. Are we under guard?"  
  
"What would we be under guard for?" Mindwell asks, her eyes narrowing.  
  
"Your own protection," a Peacekeeper says. "A hostile aircraft has been spotted. We're here to make sure all of our victors stay safe." He smiles wickedly.  
  
On the screen, Brutus draws his knife and sits down beside a piece of taut wire.  
  
Here, Toffy glances at me. I look at Jack. Jack looks at the mentors in the lounge.  
  
The _victors_ in the lounge.  
  
What happens next has nothing to do with the Rebellion. It happens because Snow has forgotten that one simple fact: Everyone in this room, just like everyone in the arena, is a victor. Cornering victors is a universally bad idea.  
  
Mindwell grabs the nearest Peacekeeper by his hair and brings her knee up into his face, dropping him quickly. They swarm her, but the District One and Nine mentors are on them as well, pulling them away and grabbing their weapons. Toffy picks up his viewing table and slams it into a Peacekeeper, crushing his ribcage against the wall.  
  
There is a momentary pause as the victors and the Peacekeepers look at one another.  
  
Philo casually grabs a steak knife he'd been using to eat his supper at the table. Jack takes off his tie and wraps the ends around his fists. Harris takes off his stiff jacket and flexes his muscles. I look for anything I can use. All I have is a pocket handkerchief.  
  
A Peacekeeper yells, "Charge!"  
  
Someone cuts the lights, leaving only the eerie glow of the hundreds of screens. I pick up a chair and throw it into the biggest screen, where Johanna is throwing Katniss to the ground, cutting her arm. It explodes in a rain of fire, sending down shards of hard plastic. I pick one up and wrap the end in my handkerchief just in time to put the sharp end through the neck of a Peacekeeper.  
  
"We have to get out of here!" Jack says, coming up beside me. Across the room, I see Toffy fall, a red blossom growing on his chest. Philo slashes someone with his knife and runs to us. "Come on! I have a car!"  
  
"We have to get to the roof!" Harris yells, but is cut off by a shot to the back. He falls in front of me, grasping at his neck.  
  
Philo shakes his head and points at one of the auxiliary screens. Shots of Brutus and Enobaria are intercut with pictures of the lake shore and Plutarch.  
  
The feed is cut. I hear shooting above us, and something takes off with a blast of fire. Plutarch better mean that he means to meet us at the lake shore, near the statues he's flashing. I guess he's decided that he can't get away if he's taking a bunch of traitors with him.  
  
Philo grabs my shoulder and pushes me toward the door. A Peacekeeper follows us, but Jack garrotes him and throws him over a railing. "Come with us!" I shout to the rest of the mentors.  
  
No one follows.  
  
As we reach the bottom of the stairs, an alarm starts blaring, throwing red light everywhere. A body comes rolling down the stairs. Mindwell. On the first floor screen, Katniss is lying on the ground, bleeding from her head and her arm.  
  
We make it out the door just before the building goes into lockdown, and Philo won't let us slow down. He pushes us into his car and slams down on the accelerator. He doesn't even try for the real garage exit, instead crashing through a decorative wooden gate and over a garden.  
  
"We have to get Effie," I say.  
  
Philo doesn't argue. Neither does Jack. I give them directions as well as I can remember and we race through narrow streets and alleys that Philo seems to know quite well.  
  
"They'll come after us," Jack says.  
  
"I know." Philo makes a quick turn into a service tunnel that runs beneath the city. "But I can make it hard for them to find us."  
  
"They'll be waiting at Effie's if we don't get there fast. They know Haymitch will come for her."  
  
Fast isn't a problem.  
  
Philo speeds through the tunnels, barely missing workers, setting off a trap at one point that opens a hole in the street. We bump over it before it can even really become a threat.  
  
We burst up onto the surface at a parking garage just outside of Effie's delicate, pink-glass neighborhood on the lake shore. A man walking a tiny dog screams and runs. Philo roars onto the quiet streets.  
  
Effie's building looks like all of the others. She has a doorman. Jack grabs him and holds him at bay with his tie while Philo unlocks the elevator from his security stand. We go up to Effie's apartment.  
  
The door is ajar.  
  
"Effie! Effie!" I go inside, yelling. Her sofa has been overturned, and the fluffy pink throw rug that defines her living room is wrinkled and askew, like something -- or someone -- has been dragged over it.  
  
"Haymitch, she's already gone," Philo says. "We have to get out of here."  
  
"EFFIE!"  
  
I storm into her bedroom, somehow expecting that she's missed all of this commotion and is just taking a nap. Her closet doors are open, her precious clothes strewn around. Her wig stands stare blankly at me. Drawers have been pulled out of her dresser and dressing table. I see pictures of her through the years on the floor, many of them marked by heavy boot prints. Her dressing table mirror is shattered. A photo she has on the wall, taken her first year as the District Twelve escort, has had its glass smashed. I am standing beside her, sneering at her. I take it and throw it across the room.  
  
"Haymitch, we have to go!" Philo shouts.  
  
I grab a handful of Effie's pictures from the floor, shove them in my pocket, and go back to the living room. On her television, I see Chaff and Brutus fighting at the edge of the jungle. Under the television, a little long-haired white cat is shivering, looking up with huge blue eyes. I didn't know she had a cat. I don't know why I didn't know that.  
  
I don't know how long I stand there, staring at Effie's cat. I make a grab for it, thinking I can at least take it outside, where it won't be locked in to starve to death, but it hisses at me and runs to hide under the couch.  
  
"No time," Philo says. "We have to get out. I mean it."  
  
"Effie," I manage to say.  
  
"It's too late, Haymitch."  
  
I shake my head, but I know the truth. I know it in my bones. We didn't just miss Effie. She's not in reach. They could easily have had her from the moment she stepped into the Justice Building this morning.  
  
I let Philo lead me out.   
  
We don't try the elevator to get down. It's too easy to trap us there. We take the emergency stairs, setting off about half a dozen alarms. Jack doesn't look surprised to see us when we get to the lobby. He knocks out the doorman (which will be better for him if the Peacekeepers find out we got by him), then we go outside.  
  
Peacekeepers surround Philo's car. One of them raises a bullhorn. "Surrender immediately in the name of Panem."  
  
I don't expect them to let us surrender, and I'm bracing myself for a gunshot when the world is suddenly flooded with white light. There is a hissing sound, and the Peacekeepers grasp at their throats. I look up and see a hovercraft, white mist blowing from its back. It's lowering its ladder.  
  
Fulvia Cardew leans out of the hatch. "Get in now, Abernathy. You've wasted enough time."  
  
I go. I'm halfway up the ladder when the stabilizers grab me, far enough that they're able to get Jack as well. A second ladder descends for Philo, but as he's running for it, a bullet catches him in the neck. Blood sprays out from under his ear, and he falls into the crowd of Peacekeepers.  
  
"No!" I scream.  
  
The ladder pulls us up. I see the Peacekeepers swarm over Philo's body. One of them shouts his name into a radio, confirming that there is a victor down. I wonder if they bothered with that back at the Viewing Center. I wonder if anyone back there is left alive.  
  
But I can't wonder about it. There's no time.  
  
"When did he become our ally?" Plutarch asks conversationally.  
  
If I weren't still held in the trap of the ladder's stabilizing field, I might knock his head off for that tone.  
  
Fulvia closes the hatch and slaps my face. "You were told not to come here." She stalks off and sits beside Plutarch in the co-pilot's seat as Jack and I are released, weak, to the floor of the craft, which is already accelerating. I can see missiles flying up at us, but Plutarch doesn't seem concerned about them.  
  
"What happened?" Jack asks. "Did someone break?"  
  
"The rescue craft was spotted," Fulvia says. "It's that simple. A piece of bad luck. One of the staffers on the supply craft called in to say that he thought he'd seen a reflection of metal in the sky when he went for a stroll on the deck. The light hit it just wrong, and there was a malfunction in the shielding."  
  
"They tried to hide," Plutarch adds, "but they had to wait for midnight if Beetee was going to break the forcefield." He nods toward the wall beside me, where, of course, there is a television screen. On it, Beetee stabs wildly at the forcefield and is thrown backward by the charge. Katniss is making her way up the hill, following the broken wire. Enobaria and Johanna are fighting on the wave beach, pushing each other up toward midnight.  
  
Peeta -- as I expected -- has gone searching for Katniss, calling for her. She yells his name as well, and their game of trying to pull attention to themselves is going to get both of them killed.  
  
Peeta first.  
  
Brutus breaks off his fight with Chaff when he sees Peeta, kicking Chaff away like an elderly dog. "Look who's here," he says softly.  
  
Peeta turns and draws his knife. "I don't care about you right now, Brutus."  
  
"I'm crushed," Brutus says. "I must be the only person in all of Panem you don't care about. Saintly little Peeta Mellark. So much better than the rest of us."  
  
"I'm not better than anyone."  
  
"Then it's just that the rest of us are worse, not spending our time crying over all the little broken hearts." Brutus moves in closer, a long knife held out in front of him. "You make me sick. You and your sniveling and whining. You'd have been dead at the Cornucopia if the world was fair. But you played your little games with the audience. All the sentimental little old ladies. And they bent the rules for you. Your girlfriend won fair and square, but you're a cheat. You're nothing. You wouldn't survive a day without her, and you don't deserve to."  
  
He raises his knife.  
  
Chaff runs at him out of nowhere, knocking him to the ground. "Get out of here, Peeta! Get back to your team!"  
  
"I -- "  
  
"I'm speaking for your mentor! Get out of--"  
  
Brutus's knife cuts nearly through Chaff's neck in one blow.   
  
It's that quick. Every moment of my life in Chaff's circle seems to flash around me -- waking up in the hospital, chess games in the park, an embrace when he smuggled himself into Twelve because I sent him a message that I needed help. I see him joking with Seeder, and cursing the Games after Thresh died last year. I see him with Winnow in the garden during the Victory Tour. All of the images jumble on top of one another senselessly as he falls to the ground, his head hanging crookedly from a single rope of muscle. I sit down heavily.  
  
Brutus gets up and spits on the body.  
  
Peeta yells Chaff's name and runs at Brutus, knocking him down to his knees. "Is this the way you want it played?" he hisses.  
  
He grabs Brutus by the hair, pulls his head back, then slits his throat.  
  
For a moment, he smiles savagely, wild and bloody in the moonlight. Peeta Mellark is gone, replaced by a capering barbarian.  
  
Then the keening sound begins. It starts before the smile even leaves his face -- a high-pitched, lost sound. He drops his knife and takes a step backward, losing his balance on his artificial leg.  
  
He looks at his hands.  
  
And screams.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Haymitch escapes to the Rebels, he learns of the destruction of District Twelve, and faces a furious Katniss.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**  
"We have to get there! We have to get him out of there!"  
  
"We're headed for the rendezvous point, and of course the rescue craft is going to try to get Peeta out," Plutarch says. "They can't do anything while the forcefield is still up."  
  
"If there's enough power to break it from inside, then someone should have enough power to break it from outside," Jack says.  
  
"Their power is engaged in the firefight that's currently going on," Fulvia says. "Even the supply ship is armed."  
  
"Then we should go and help them," I say.  
  
On screen, Katniss has reached Beetee. Peeta's inchoate scream has changed to a gasping, horrible cry for Katniss. She yells back, obviously trying to draw attention away from him.  
  
"We can't go there," Fulvia says. "There's too much risk. Plutarch is needed in the administration of the war."  
  
Jack stands up, his tie held loosely in one hand. "Lady," he says, "if I were you, I'd think about exactly what the risks are. Me and Haymitch just got through about a million Peacekeepers, using a tie and a piece of broken plastic. And flying was my talent. You might want to ask yourself if you're really more scared of a few Capitol guns."  
  
"There's no need for threats," Plutarch says calmly, steering the hovercraft around a mountain. "Fulvia, we are at war. We should expect to take some risks with our personal safety. The craft is armed, and perhaps we can rendezvous with the rescue ship early."  
  
Fulvia looks at us like she might murder us with her mind, and goes back to the co-pilot's seat.  
  
I turn back to the screen. I don't know what Beetee did to himself -- it must have happened while we were escaping -- but he is bleeding from his arm, so I'd guess his tracker is gone. If he were to move out of range of the last camera to track him, they might not be able to find him again... but he's beyond moving right now. He is breathing shallowly. Katniss is staring at his knife, which is wrapped in wire and attached to the lightning tree.  
  
"Oh, my God," Jack says. "He was trying to run the wire through the forcefield. Short it out when the lightning comes."  
  
I shake my head. "The knife wouldn't make it. It would ground him. He's..." I see everything. "An arrow would do it. He did it to give Katniss a clue. But she has no idea."  
  
Finnick is battling furiously with Enobaria, headed toward midnight. He isn’t going for lethal blows. "Just hold out," he tells her. "Hold out, and--"  
  
She swings a spear around, crossing it with his trident, and yells murderously.  
  
Beside Beetee, Katniss raises her bow, but doesn't put wire onto an arrow or aim at the forcefield.  
  
Peeta stumbles out onto the beach, still calling miserably for Katniss. He looks around, disoriented, and tries to find his way to the right spot.  
  
Johanna slashes her own arm, pulls out her tracker, and makes an obscene gesture at the sky. She runs out of frame. The cameras try to follow her physically, but she loses herself in the shadows, running through the nine o'clock wedge.  
  
Katniss has leveled her bow at Enobaria. She has a clean shot, but she stops, frowning.  
  
"Come on, sweetheart," I whisper, though there's no point. I can't even send her a gift with a hint. "Remember who the enemy is."  
  
She whispers one word that I don't think she's even aware of saying: "Enemy."  
  
"There it is!" Fulvia shouts, and through the front window of the hovercraft, I can see the arena, a faintly glowing pink thing, with hovercrafts skirmishing above it. It stands in the middle of the vast, flat desert to the southwest of the Capitol.  
  
Katniss's eyes are wild, but she lowers her bow, then grabs Beetee's knife. With quick loops, she secures the wire to an arrow and stands, in full view of Enobaria.  
  
Enobaria raises her spear. Finnick picks her up and throws her down the hill.  
  
Katniss fires the arrow.  
  
Lightning strikes, running down the wire beside her, sending her flying to the ground beside Beetee. The dome of the arena turns to fire in front of us, then disappears.  
  
"We're clear," Plutarch says, his voice finally betraying some kind of tension as he flies into the combat zone. Fulvia grips the arms of her chair as if it will save her. A large hovercraft comes out of its protective shielding. He presses a button, and a moment later, a gaping hangar opens at the base of the craft. He steers in calmly, and, without so much as a fare thee well, heads out, leaving Fulvia at the controls to power down.  
  
There are still cameras running, though I can't imagine this is being broadcast anywhere but the Head Gamemaker's personal channel. I can see the craft I am now on as it lowers a claw toward Katniss. On another screen, I see Peeta blasted backward by a Capitol hovercraft using the air guns they used to blast me away from Maysilee. He stumbles onto the beach between the two o'clock and three o'clock wedges.  
  
Katniss is scooped up into the claw. It comes down again, and Finnick arranges Beetee in it carefully, to avoid his wounds. He slumps for a minute as the claw goes up, and I think he might pass out before it can lower for him, but instead, he lurches toward the forest line, miserably calling for Jo and Peeta.  
  
"Finnick!" I yell, even though we're far from the area where he might hear us over the din.  
  
The faint humming of the craft's engines intensifies, and to my surprise, Fulvia calls back, "Anderson, take co-pilot."  
  
"We're going in?" Jack asks.  
  
"Plutarch was right," Fulvia says, an affected air of martyrdom falling over her features. "We must be willing to take risks with our personal safety. The remaining victors are separated. We will assist in their retrieval."  
  
Jack goes to the front and takes the second seat, flipping switches, and I follow, looking for a weapon. All Plutarch has are guns. I take one, and hope I won't need to shoot far.  
  
Fulvia drops us out of the rescue craft as it swoops in for Peeta, who is staring up at it, uncomprehending. A Capitol craft flies in low, firing upward at the rescue flight, forcing it backward.  
  
"No!" I yell. "I'm going down."  
  
Fulvia responds, taking our flight down closer to the beach. I hear the hatch open. Jack grabs my arm. "Get Finnick, too, and meet us at the Cornucopia. We have to get Johanna. They'll kill her."  
  
I nod and go back to the hatch. The ladder is starting to lower, and I grab hold of it, scurrying down to the lowest rungs without using the stabilizer. About six feet from the beach, I drop to the sand. It's a jarring thud that rings in my head, and a part of me is sure that I'll die right here, and right now. Back in the arena, where it should have happened in the first place.  
  
But, as it was in my arena, that panicked voice goes away. I adjust and look around. I'm at the two o'clock wedge, and I can see that the fog is starting to creep through the trees. Monkeys are chattering in the three o'clock wedge, and I understand immediately: The Gamemakers have turned off the clock. Everything is on. I see Peeta on the sand and run for him, yelling his name. The Capitol craft swoops in on him and a Peacekeeper reaches out. I fire wildly. The bullet ricochets against the craft, which at least gets their attention. A blast of air pushes me out of the way, and it's Maysilee all over again.  
  
I struggle to keep my feet, to not let them knock me out as they did then. I finally get some traction at the edge of the jungle.  
  
I try to run against the air, but it's too late. The Peacekeeper descends from the craft and grabs Peeta, none too gently, pulling him up and out of our hands. I fire uselessly at the engines as they pull away, leaving me to the fog or the monkeys. I'm of no use to them.  
  
I see Fulvia flying in low over the eleven o'clock wedge, and the slight figure of Jack at the bottom of the ladder. The wave crashes out of the ten o'clock wedge, and Johanna comes rushing out onto the beach.  
  
"Johanna… Peeta…"  
  
I turn. Finnick is stumbling out of the blood rain, drenched in gore, lurching on legs that are barely responding. The fog is coming closer to us.  
  
I tackle him back into the one o'clock wedge. The edge of the blood rain storm spits out at us.  
  
Finnick blinks at me. "Haymitch?" he says, confused.  
  
"We have to get out."  
  
"Peeta…"  
  
"We were too late," I say. I will think about this later. I'll think about it for a long time. If I hadn't taken the time to rescue Effie -- which I didn't do. If I'd told Peeta and Katniss what was going on. If I'd just thought of something more clever, if I'd been able to shoot better… do _something_ else...  
  
But I can't think about it right now. There's no time for it.  
  
Because Finnick is trying to run for the water, screaming, "Johanna!"  
  
I grab him. It's too easy. He's twitching and lurching, and most of his strength has left him. He's not going to be able to help Johanna. I drag him along the spoke of the clock, running for the Cornucopia, and I know I'm not really going to make it this time. This time, the others will beat me there, be waiting with weapons and…  
  
I'm suddenly on the island. Weapons are strewn around on the ground. I drop the useless, empty gun and pick up a knife just as a monkey rushes out from the three o'clock wedge and leaps at us.  
  
I slash its throat and throw it off into the water.  
  
At the eleven o'clock wedge, I can see Jack and Johanna running toward us. Jack is firing at the Capitol craft, trying to keep it off them. Johanna has reached the spoke when suddenly, the gun goes silent. Jack dry fires twice, then, in a desperate move, throws the weapon at the hovercraft.  
  
"Jack!" Johanna yells.  
  
The air cannon blasts him backward, but this time, there's no creeping fog to wait out. From the eleven o'clock wedge, a swarm of black, clicking insects swarms out of the jungle. Johanna runs for him, but before she can even make the beach, the insects make a shroud around him, and he's gone.  
  
He doesn't even have time to scream, and I _can't_. I'm here with Finnick, and he's incapacitated, and if that craft figures out where we are, then we're both dead.  
  
Johanna screams obscenities at the Capitol, but starts to run toward us. I can see Fulvia coming in, the ladder down, and as soon as she's in firing range I stand up and yell, "JO! NOW!"  
  
But there's no chance, not really.  
  
The claw comes down and snags her under the shoulders, yanking her up as she screams in pain.  
  
"Jo!" Finnick croaks. "No, Johanna!"  
  
The ladder of Fulvia's craft comes down beside us, scraping the rock beside the Cornucopia. She fires steadily at the Capitol crafts. I push Finnick onto the ladder and activate the stabilizers to hold him, then grab hold of the lowest rung. Fulvia sweeps out over the jungle. I see someone yank Enobaria up out of the trees, and I want to get to her, too, no matter what she did before. I remember Drake saying, "There's us, and there's them." Enobaria is one of us.  
  
But it's too late.  
  
She disappears into the maw of the arena corpse ship, and suddenly, Finnick and I are the only living tributes left in the arena. The Capitol crafts turn on us as Fulvia starts to pull up. Something above us explodes, and bits of a ship start to fall around us. Small fighters come in, pushing off the Capitol forces as we're drawn up into the night, Fulvia starts to pull in the ladder, bringing it up into place. I look down through the hatch as she closes it and see the arena burning in the night, a bright orange flower in the blackness.  
  
Then the hatch closes, and Games are behind me.  
  
A light flashes on the control panel, and a voice comes over the intercom. "All tributes now accounted for. Retreat immediately. Regroup at rendezvous."  
  
My kids are out of reach. I want to open the hatch again, drop down, be captured. Maybe I could get them out if I could just get time to _think_.  
  
I sit in the chair beside Fulvia just as the screen flickers and we lose the broadcast. Fulvia flies us away from the arena into the night, following the lights of the District Thirteen rescue craft, from which Plutarch calls to check our situation. I let her answer -- "Odair and Abernathy are with me. Odair is wounded. Anderson is lost."  
  
_Lost_ , I think, and pick up Jack's tie, which he left wadded up on the control panel. I try not to see the bugs swarming over him. I press the tie to my eyes. I want a drink.  
  
No. I want to go back. I want to let the bugs cover me up as well. Let them tear me up and spread me through the mud of the arena, so I won't have to think about it happening to Jack anymore. Or about the single string of muscle holding Chaff's head on his body. Or about what they're going to do to Peeta and Johanna and Effie because I wasn't clever enough, because I didn't know what I was trying to tell myself, because I'd been lulled into the idea that this was all some kind of game after all.  
  
From the rear of the craft, I hear Finnick groan. I look at Fulvia, and she shrugs. It's not like I have any use in the co-pilot's seat, anyway. I go back to Finnick and try to get some fluids into him and bandage his wounds.  
  
We fly west. The hardpan desert gives way to mountains, which the hovercraft barely clears. Beyond them, I see a vast ocean. We are far in the out-district lands now. Over the intercom, Plutarch cheerfully informs us that we are flying over a country that was once called California. "Quite populous before the earthquakes," he says. "Some people think they were toying with seismic weaponry."  
  
I don't care in the least. Fulvia makes encouraging sounds, and Plutarch continues with his history lesson about the empty lands and ocean we are flying over. Finnick is starting to regain his strength, though I tell him to stay down. I don’t know how much of a shock he took from the lightning.  
  
As the sun is rising behind us, we finally reach a tiny, dry island dominated by a huge volcano. I think of my arena and wonder if it's set to destroy the crafts that have landed there, but don't say anything. Then I think of Chaff. And Peeta. And Johanna. And Jack. And Philo. Even Enobaria. I barely understand what Plutarch is saying.  
  
We land on a wide expanse of rock next to the rescue ship, which is dwarfed by the huge medical ship beside it. Plutarch comes out of the latter to greet us and take us inside. Medics swarm around Finnick, and wrestle him down onto a stretcher.  
  
"This place was hardly populated at all even before the catastrophes," he says. There's something shifty in his eyes now. I don't know what it is. "One eruption wiped it out. It's not even on the Capitol's maps, but our friend Commander Boggs is quite the geography student. It will be perfect for solar re-charging while we re-group."  
  
"Katniss and Beetee were hurt," I say.  
  
"What? Oh, yes, they're in medical care. I thought we'd lost Katniss at first, but her vitals are reasonably strong. We did restrain her, since she is in a fragile state."  
  
"And Beetee?"  
  
"Has very serious nerve damage, I'm afraid, but when he has achieved consciousness, he seems lucid and glad to have escaped. But Haymitch, there's something else you need to know." We've reached the medical ship, and he leads me to a small white room with a large television screen. I realize suddenly that all this while, his tone has been _too_ even, _too_ friendly. He's treating me like I'm fragile. Now, he guides me to a chair in front of a small television and gets me to sit down. "About fifteen minutes after Katniss destroyed the forcefield… I didn't find out until we landed, or I'd have found a way to say it… District Twelve…"  
  
I look up. The numb sense of loss and grief that's stretched me so thin that I'm barely registering the world suddenly breaks, and everything inside of me seems to be exposed. I try desperately to gather it in, the way I held in my guts in the arena, but I know it's going to get away from me. "What…?" I manage.  
  
Plutarch closes his eyes. "Haymitch, I'm sorry. This aired live all over the country. I didn't know…"  
  
He presses a button. The screen comes to life.  
  
At first, it shows a familiar angle, a Games angle. The square in District Twelve. Not many people are out, having chosen not to watch the Games in the shadow of the gallows, I guess. Ed Mellark is in the stocks. Danny is sitting with him. They are looking up at the screen, horrified. I'm guessing they saw what Peeta did. Danny looks shocked and hurt, and he says, "Oh, Peeta." I can see a few other people around. There is a camera on Mir, standing at the edge of the square with Jonadab, Sarey, and the baby. Her hand goes to her mouth. Another camera shows Murphy's pub, where more people have gathered for mandatory viewing. A third shows the Seam, but people are watching inside their houses for the most part. I see a couple of boys playing soldier.  
  
The time stamp skips ahead as coverage goes back to the square.  
  
The giant screen goes dead. The lights go out.  
  
The view changes to a view from above -- not far above. Close enough that I can see the people looking up in terror.  
  
President Snow's voice comes over the broadcast: "Katniss Everdeen's act of treason is considered the treason of District Twelve. No nation can survive a betrayal from within. District Twelve will pay the price for the actions of Katniss Everdeen and her mentor, Haymitch Abernathy."  
  
The first firebomb falls. For a moment, I see Danny looking up, trying to put himself between the sky and his son, as if it could do any good. Then he is burning in the night and screaming, though I can't hear him. Ed is crowned in flame as well, and I think of Peeta and Katniss in the chariot, burning in the twilight like angry gods, but this is real, this is…  
  
I can't breathe. I remember Danny beside me, cleaning me as the steam hung around us, the charred remains of my girl coming off of me in unspeakable smears while he tried desperately to comfort me with soft words in the emptiness.  
  
I hear myself choking on a scream, but I can't make it come out.  
  
The rest of the square becomes an inferno in seconds, destroying everything and everyone in its reach.  
  
Another bomb falls. And another. Another. I see people trying to run. The shops in town are gone in minutes. The stone Justice Building only takes a little longer. I see a woman run out on fire, and I can't tell who she is. The giant screen is a sheet of flames until it collapses onto the cobblestones, re-lighting a body I can't even stand to think about.  
  
The pub goes up. Dozens of people try to flee, their hair and clothes sheets of flames around them.  
  
"This is the price of treason," Snow says. "This is the truth of the Girl on Fire."  
  
A body falls in slow motion, burning like a candle.  
  
They don't need to waste a bomb on the Seam. The houses are dry wood, embedded with centuries of coal dust, and they ignite from the heat of the fire in town. People are running everywhere. I see a crowd attacking the fence. Another bomb falls on the school. The train station.  
  
The craft goes to the mines and drops a heavy, pointed bomb. A bunker blaster.  
  
It's followed by another firebomb, and the District Twelve mine, the seam of coal that runs halfway to District Eleven, is set to the torch, along with anyone who was trapped inside of it.  
  
The broadcast ends.  
  
I fight with the scream inside me, not knowing whether I want to stifle it or let it out. I could just start screaming, put my hands over my ears like Katniss did when the jabberjays attacked her, only I wouldn't stop. I could just scream until something bursts, throw myself into something sharp. Anything. Anything at all.  
  
I make a few retching sounds and lean forward. Plutarch puts a hand on my shoulder. "Haymitch?"  
  
I pull my breath in. There's a kind of wild, yelping sound to it. I push Plutarch away.  
  
"Haymitch. I'm sorry."  
  
I try to let go. To let my mind fly away on this. But I feel Danny beside me again, trying to wash it away. The images go through my head, and he says, quite clearly, _What else did you see?_  
  
In my current frame of mind, it seems perfectly logical that he could speak in my head after he burned up on the screen. What difference does it make? Danny will join Mom and Digger and Maysilee now, incessantly asking me questions I don't know how to answer. The horrible images flip through my head again. My mind gets caught for a while on Danny and Ed, twisting them up forever with images of Peeta and Katniss in the chariot, but I force it by. I watch the Justice Building fall. I watch the houses on the Seam collapse. I watch the bunker blaster bore into the mine.  
  
I almost miss it. The people rushing the fence. The power was out. I fight my way up from the fog. "Did they get out? The ones at the fence."  
  
Plutarch blinks. "What?"  
  
I grab his arm. "They were trying to get out. Did they make it? Are there survivors?"  
  
He looks at me like I might be crazy, and he's probably right. "We haven't heard from any," he says gently, "though a District Thirteen flyover showed that the Victors' Village was left intact, so perhaps Ruth and Primrose Everdeen were able to escape." He pauses. "I _am_ sorry, Haymitch. I never imagined this."  
  
"I did," I say. "I told my... my... I told Danny. I told Hazelle to see if she could find escape routes. I knew they'd take it out on us, but it was too late to stop. We sold my district." I stare at the blank screen. My mind is just as blank. We sold District Twelve. And my kids. And I don't even know how many victors died at the Viewing Center.  
  
"Haymitch, you can't take Snow's blame seriously. He's the one who decided to do it. It's his fault, not yours. If he'd been a decent leader, none of this would have happened."  
  
I know he's right. I know what Snow has done. But I can't stand hearing Plutarch's voice anymore. I want Effie. Or Hazelle. Or Peeta. I particularly want Peeta to say exactly what Plutarch just said. I'd believe Peeta saying it.  
  
But Peeta is in the Capitol. If he's still alive at all.  
  
I can't find my voice for a long time. When I do, all I say is, "Get me to Katniss."  
  
"She's not conscious."  
  
"I don't care. Take me to wherever she is." I'm led through huge hangars and narrow halls, past rooms full of screens that look like the Viewing Center. Plutarch takes me to the top level of the ship, and there, I find a long hospital ward. In one bed, Beetee is attached to more tubes than I can see at a glance. He looks like he's actually turned into one of his own strange inventions.  
  
Across from him, Katniss is lying still, her hands secured with restraints. There is an empty chair beside her. I sit down in it, and don't even acknowledge Plutarch when he leaves.  
  
She's covered with scratches and mud, except for where someone cleaned the wound on her arm to stitch it up before she could bleed to death. Her matted braid makes an arc around the side of her head. A bruise rises up on her temple, and an needle is taped into one arm, getting her hydrated and feeding her some kind of sedative. She seems very young.  
  
I take her hand. She doesn't respond. "I'm sorry," I tell her.  
  
She doesn't answer, of course.  
  
"I had to do it," I say. "I had to. The way things were. I should have told you, but we couldn't risk it. I _didn't_ risk it." There's still no answer. I imagine that she is awake and ignoring me. I would. I sold her, along with everything else that mattered, for this one way ride out of the Capitol.  
  
I don't know what I expected, what I meant to say. She just continues to breathe quietly. I stay, not knowing what I'm supposed to do or when I'm allowed to go.  
  
I don't imagine that I'd be Katniss's first choice as a companion. Not with Peeta in the Capitol, and District Twelve burned to the ground, and her mother and sister missing, and Gale probably dead.  
  
Still, I stay.  
  
After a while, I find a cloth and a bowl of water, and start to clean the muck of the arena off of her. I think of Danny and Peeta while I do it. After a while, I think of nothing at all, except that she needs to be clean of all of this. Once, I notice that I'm crying. It's strange. I really can't feel it. I know that my body is moving, and my throat is locked up, and the tears are there, but I seem to be somewhere outside of it, as far away from it as Katniss is. After a while, I realize the her face and hands are as clean as I can get them, and just sit beside her again, holding her hand. My own hands are starting to shake. I haven't had a drink in days, and the last of the medicine is giving out on me. I don't care. If I jitter apart right now, it won't matter to anyone.  
  
I stay through the morning, and into the afternoon, as I feel the craft take off. I stay through supper, which is brought to me by an unsmiling young woman dressed in gray. I stay until the lights turn to a night-time setting and an announcement goes out that we are to be in our assigned berths. Even then, I stay until Finnick comes in.  
  
He's still bruised and battered, but he's cleaned himself up a little bit and changed into a gray jumpsuit. He checks on Beetee, then looks at Katniss for a long time. He looks at me. "Thank you," he says. His voice is pinched and distant. "Thanks for… getting me. Maybe if I hadn't gone off running, you could have gotten to Peeta…"  
  
"Don't," I tell him.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them and looks over at Beetee.  
  
"What is it?" I ask.  
  
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Peeta… Twelve…" He swallows hard. "We're rooming together, Haymitch. Come on. You have to be where your schedule says."  
  
"Schedule?"  
  
"I haven't got mine yet, either, but right now everyone's supposed to be in bed unless they're on night shift. District Thirteen may take some getting used to."  
  
When I stand up, I realize that it's not just my hands shaking anymore. My legs are trembling. I'm disgusted with myself, but I have to ask, "Is there someplace I can get a drink?"  
  
"It's illegal in Thirteen," Finnick says. "I asked. I figured you'd need a drink. You're going to have to sober up. I told them you'd need help, but they… they don't really understand. They said you'll have medical attention in Thirteen. You have to hold on until then, okay?"  
  
I let him lead me out. Our assigned cabin is a metal box with two cots in it. He doesn't talk the whole way to it.  
  
I stop him when we get in, put a shaking hand on his shoulder, and say, "Finnick, what aren't you telling me?"  
  
"It's not like what happened in Twelve…"  
  
"Whatever it is, it's bad."  
  
He thinks for a minute, then sits down on the edge of a cot. "The Peacekeepers took Annie in Four," he says. "They showed it. Said she was being taken in for her own protection."  
  
"Finnick, I..."  
  
"Winnow Robinson got in touch with me. She and Bobby Neill are leading the fleet right now. They're trying to cut off the Capitol's access to the sea. I doubt it will make a difference. Everything they need is on the continent. She said they tried to get to Annie, but everything happened too fast. They got my mother out of jail, and she's with them, but no one made it to Annie in time."  
  
"I'm sorry, Finnick."  
  
"We had everything so well planned. We were so clever. Secret messages. Bread codes. And we got tripped up by a malfunctioning shield and a worker on a coffee break. And a couple of teenagers we never should have lied to." He puts his head in his hands. "If we'd told them... if she hadn't figured we'd eventually have to kill him... then she wouldn't have been ready to split the alliance, and we wouldn't have had to split them up to keep them from running. If we hadn't split them up, then --"  
  
"Stop it. Stop second-guessing," I say, as if I haven't been doing that for the last twenty-four hours.  
  
He doesn't seem to have the energy to keep arguing. He lies down in the bed and looks up at the ceiling. "I should have died rather than let Peeta leave Beetee's side."  
  
"Why did you let him leave?"  
  
"We heard Brutus and Enobaria. They didn't broadcast that?"  
  
"I was otherwise occupied," I say. I don't know if he's heard about the fight at the viewing center. I'm guessing he must, since he hasn't asked about Harris.  
  
He nods vaguely. "I want to sleep," he says.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"But I want you to stay. Don't do anything dumb, Haymitch. Please. I…"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I need you," he mumbles, then turns over and turns the light off.  
  
I let him pretend to sleep -- I know it's a pretense, because there are no nightmares -- and sit on my cot, staring at the darkness through a small porthole, listening to make sure his breathing doesn't stop. Now and then, the clouds part, and I can see down to the empty world below. There is a navigation map set into the wall. I don't know why, but we've flown far to the south of Panem, and are skimming over the straights between North and South America. I watch the red dot of our passing until my body forces me to sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch arrives in District Thirteen, and is not prepared for life there.

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**  
We have stopped to re-charge when I wake up. Finnick is already gone. The dot indicates that we're on an island south of Panem, but to the east, and I'd guess we're going to be making our way north today. A helpful program that sounds like Plutarch wrote its scripts tells me that we are on Jamaica, which was a thriving country until the catastrophes came. It does not elaborate.  
  
A few hours of rest seem to have at least temporarily put off the shakes, though I'm pretty sure they'll be back, and I can almost feel my brain making emergency preparations while I take a shower and change into a gray pantsuit that's been left for me. I put my regular clothes in a bag and hide them. I don't know why, but I want to hold on to them.  
  
I go up to check on Katniss and Beetee as soon as we take off. They are both still sleeping. I can't stand seeing Katniss's hands tied, so I take the restraints off of her.  
  
A medic in a white shirt and gray pants comes up to me and says, "You're needed in control, Mr. Abernathy." He starts to put the restraints back.  
  
I grab his wrist. "Leave her be."  
  
"She has tried to injure herself twice. The first time, she pulled out her IVs. The second, she threw herself into the table and aggravated her concussion."  
  
"The restraints didn't stop either."  
  
"Well... no."  
  
"I'm her mentor. Her legal guardian until her mother comes. _If_ she comes. You'll do as I say. Leave them off."  
  
This obviously doesn't sit well, but he agrees and goes about his morning check-up. I head out, and lights in the wall lead me to command. It's actually a pleasant looking room with curved windows, probably meant as a luxury lounge. Plutarch has taken it over and is staring intently at a computer screen. Finnick is at the table, looking beaten. I sit down across from him and wait for nearly ten minutes before he even acknowledges that I'm here. I nibble a little bit at the breakfast that's been laid out, but no one seems really interested in it.  
  
"What's the news?" I ask.  
  
"I'm getting reports from the Capitol," Plutarch says. "The news is reporting a terrible fire at the Viewing Center. Only a few of the mentors escaped it."  
  
"Don't tell me -- it was set by a drunk from District Twelve."  
  
He nods. "During an assault on the electronics involved in the Games."  
  
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying not to feel anything. "How many?"  
  
Plutarch looks like he's contemplating not telling me, but ultimately, he just sighs and says, "We lost sixteen victors in the fighting. Eighteen in the arena. Six made it out of the Viewing Center."  
  
I start to ask who died, then realize that it's easier to get the shorter list. "Do you know who got out of the Center?"  
  
"Will Norton and Darla Grimes from Nine. They played it like their Games and stood out the fight. The Capitol escorted them to the train and sent them home under armed guard."  
  
"That's not going to go over well in Nine. Nine doesn't much like its victors, anyway."  
  
"I'm sure that's why there's a guard. They'll probably get their things and be moved back to the Capitol. Lucanus Bazzett from Two is reported to be training for war with the Peacekeepers, not that anyone remembers him anymore. Otho Magro slashed his way out. He's at large in the Capitol as far as we know. No idea which side he'll end up on. Verge Gatty shot Toffy Taggart, so I'm guessing he'll be fighting with the Capitol. Diamond, from One." He checks a list. "Those are the ones we know about. Plus three taken prisoner from the arena, three here, and Enobaria… who knows where Eno will end up."  
  
"Only six…"  
  
Plutarch winces. "There's more. The ones who weren't in the Capitol. Hennesy Doolin died in the fighting in Four, trying to get Annie out. Sandi Matta's been arrested for inciting rebellion. She's scheduled for execution. And in One… " He sighs. "Most of them who weren't mentoring or in the Games stayed home this year. Ravish was shot by the Peacekeepers when he tried to keep them from dragging off a girl who cheered when Katniss shot out the forcefield. The other four -- split loyalties. They went into melee. Two dead, one dying, one arrested."  
  
I try to absorb it, but I can't make sense of it. "What about the captives?  
  
"Peeta is in the Training Center under guard. There's no news about Johanna."  
  
Finnick makes a choked sound. "Annie?"  
  
"They're holding her in Four. I expect they'll move her to the Capitol."  
  
"And Effie?" I ask. "The one who wasn't in any danger in the Capitol? Or Peeta's preps. Or Portia."  
  
"No news on any of them," Plutarch says. "I'm sorry, Haymitch. But there was nothing we could do."  
  
"What about survivors in District Twelve?"  
  
Plutarch smiles. "We're cautiously optimistic that there may be some. Surveillance shows a long section of the fence that has been trampled, but we can't tell where in the woods anyone might have gone. Whoever it is, they must be skilled at hiding in those woods."  
  
_Gale,_ I think hopefully. He knows the woods even better than Katniss does, and Hazelle knew to be prepared.  
  
"There's no communication, of course," he says. "Even if the power structure hadn't been destroyed, I can't imagine where they would have gotten equipment."  
  
"So, no direct news," Finnick says.   
  
Plutarch shakes his head. "Communications are down in Seven, Ten and Twelve." He again looks hopeful. "But Eleven has control of transportation now, so there's at least a hope of them getting some food out."  
  
"Can we get to Four?" Finnick asks.  
  
"No, I'm sorry. There's no way I can get you to Four. But I've given special orders for her retrieval if possible. It's the best I can do, Finnick."  
  
"I should kill myself. They'd leave her alone if I weren't here."  
  
"Don't be stupid," I tell him. "That's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure. As long as _you're_ alive, they'll keep _her_ alive for bait."  
  
The door slams open suddenly, and there is Katniss, wild-eyed, her thin nightgown sticking to her, a syringe held tightly in one hand. She's completely feral, a creature of pure vengeance, though she obviously recognizes us.  
  
I can think of a few ways to handle it. I can already see Plutarch reaching for a medical bag, but I hold up my hand. I could attack and try to subdue her before she hurts someone, then explain things. I could just try to hold her and calm her down.  
  
Or I could be her mentor, the one she expects, the one she knows.  
  
"Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" I ask. I suspect it doesn't come out sounding quite as light as I meant it to, because Katniss raises the syringe and starts lurching into the room.  
  
_She means to start killing people,_ I realize. _Killing them because she thinks they're in the hands of the Capitol._  
  
I know this with absolute certainty, though Plutarch looks utterly confused. Before she can overcome her own confusion, I grab her hand. "So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol?" I ask, trying to reach her by treating her as I always do. Trying to find _Katniss_ in the crazy girl standing here. "See, this is why no one lets you make the plans." She stares at me. I force her hand open and say, "Drop it."  
  
The syringe falls. I set her down beside Finnick, and try to explain what's happened as well as I can while Plutarch tries to get her to eat. The longer I talk, the more I see her eyes grow cold and far away.  
  
"You didn't tell me," she says at last.  
  
And of course, this is it. This is the moment of betrayal. I consider fobbing it off on someone else, but not telling them was my call, in the end.  
  
But before I can confess, Plutarch steps in to take the blame, trying to sound jovial and kind, even referencing the hint he gave her about the arena.  
  
Katniss is having none of it. "I still don't understand why Peeta and I weren't let in on the plan."  
  
"Because once the forcefield blew, you'd be the first ones they'd try to capture, and the less you knew, the better," I say bluntly.  
  
She doesn't understand. She thinks Johanna turned on her. Finnick and I try to explain that it's not true, that Jo saved her.  
  
Plutarch just ignores most of this and, quite suddenly, flat out says, "We had to save you because you're the mockingjay. While you live, the revolution lives."  
  
I can see that Katniss is less than impressed by this. She looks at me, puzzled and betrayed, then light dawns on the most horrible thing… at least the most horrible thing she has a reason to think about so far. "Peeta," she whispers.  
  
"The others kept Peeta alive because we knew if he died, there'd be no keeping you in the alliance, and we couldn't risk leaving you unprepared," I say. It's a harsh way to say it, and I know it, but I can't seem to think of anything else. I think about Danny burning up. About the fire rushing through the square. She can't handle it right now. I have to stay on task. I'm trying to figure out how to tell her what I know she's going to ask next, the thing that may take her out of the alliance now that she has no one else, the ultimate betrayal.  
  
But she beats me to it: "Where is Peeta?"  
  
I'm too tired to make up a long-winded explanation. "He was picked up by the Capitol, along with Johanna and Enobaria."  
  
Her eyes widen, and her mouth tightens in an unvoiced scream. I look away.  
  
She screams and lunges across the table, claws out. Before I know what's happening, she's ripping at my face. Blood fills my eye. She calls me a Gamemaker... worse than a Gamemaker. She says I betrayed Peeta. She calls me a liar and a cheat and tells me that she hates me and is going to kill me.   
  
Something in me breaks, and I feel it like glass shards in my head. I grab her arms and push her away. "You're the one who was going to break the alliance!" I yell at her. "He'd be fine if everyone had stayed together!"  
  
She screeches and takes another swipe at me. Finnick grabs her and drags her from the room. I grab her kicking feet. We get her back to the hospital ward, and this time, I help tie her down. She slams her head on the table again and again, no longer cursing me, just crying for Peeta.  
  
The medic sticks her with a needle and she curls up into a voiceless ball.  
  
Finnick has taken a few hits, and the medics install him in the bed next to her for observation. They take me to an exam room to bandage my face.  
  
"You can't start accusing the mockingjay of making a mistake," Plutarch says when I come out.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Then stop it."  
  
He storms off, leaving me alone. I sit down. I want a drink. It's getting to a point where I _need_ one. I've lost my balance. The line has moved again, and I'm completely lost. I ask the medic about detox pills, but he considers them little more than alcohol in pill form (which may be true, for all I know) and tells me that District Thirteen is not going to "enable" me that way. I will have to "be a man." In some corner of my brain, Brutus smirks and says, "Good luck with that."  
  
When I come out, Finnick has gone to sleep. Katniss is in a drugged land where she doesn't even seem to see me.  
  
We arrive at District Thirteen late in the afternoon.  
  
I don't know what I expected -- some subterranean version of the Capitol, I guess -- and I'm not sure what to make of what I see. The hangar we land in is utilitarian and featureless, and nothing I see as we are walked briskly to the hospital is any different. Gray halls, lined with gray doors. The people are dressed in gray clothes, except for the medical staff, who wear white shirts. We're separated for our examinations. Someone takes my bag. I lie about who scratched my face, claiming it happened in the fight with the Peacekeepers. I doubt Katniss has anything more exotic under her fingernails than they did, at least not after being treated on the hovercraft. They examine me for other injuries from the fight and find none. I assume I'll be released.  
  
I'm not. Another doctor comes in after and hooks electrodes up to my head. He claims to be checking my nerve responses.  
  
"I don't have any nerve damage," I say. "I wasn't in the arena when the forcefield blew."  
  
"As I understand it, you've found other ways to damage your neural network," he says coldly.  
  
"My brain's fine," I grumble.  
  
"Well, I don't see any shrinkage or lesions... yet." He scans whatever is coming out of my brain. "But there's neuroinflammation, and your dopamine uptake receptors are severely out of balance..." I tune out as he describes whatever he has decided I have wrong with me. It always boils down to the same thing: Quit drinking.  
  
"There are pills," I try. "And I know, you don't like them here --"  
  
"They are against the law. They may not impair your mental functioning, but they maintain --"  
  
"Right, I know, they enable the addiction. Your guy on the ship told me. But if I don't take them, I'll get the shakes. Someone in Twelve died from a heart attack during the shakes."  
  
"Which is why we will keep you under medical supervision as you dry out, Mr. Abernathy. You have enough left in your system to linger for a few days, according to your bloodwork, but after that, you _will_ be dealing with rather severe withdrawal."  
  
There is no opportunity to argue, and no compassion offered. I am assigned a bed, nowhere near the others. Finnick is ambulatory (though apparently under a suicide watch), and he comes to see me, psych nurse in tow. Katniss is refusing to speak or even acknowledge anyone, except in her sleep.  
  
"She did sleep for a little while," Finnick says. "But she woke up screaming for that pearl Peeta found for her. I got it out of that parachute she was carrying things in. She stopped talking as soon as she had it. They took the burn ointment for the hospital."  
  
"They just took her things?" I ask.  
  
"I doubt she'll care about the ointment. They had to make sure the spile wasn't a weapon."  
  
"Good thing you already checked."  
  
He smiles faintly, then sighs and puts his head in his hands.  
  
Plutarch comes in after a while, bouncing around jovially. I'm not sure why. His report isn't exactly the stuff of optimism. Peeta is still at the Training Center, and Caesar Flickerman has visited him. Plutarch anticipates that the Capitol will use him for propaganda. Caesar said he would help anyone left behind. Personally, I don't care if it includes Peeta being on television. He can ride around on a unicycle singing the national anthem with a performing monkey on his head as far as I'm concerned, as long as Caesar keeps him alive. Annie is in the Training Center as well now, and Effie is in minimum security. Johanna is in maximum security, and none of us mention the possibility that they'll kill her there. There's too much information they'll try to get out of her first.  
  
She'll be a hero, Plutarch assures us.  
  
There are no resources available for a mission to the Capitol to rescue them yet.  
  
Plutarch purses his lips. "I did ask, you know. President Coin wants to do it, of course. She would have preferred we rescue Peeta in the first place. But we are not in a place to risk jeopardizing our agents." He seems to expect us to nod and acquiesce, and sounds a bit peeved when we don't. "We have been given a great deal of aid already, and there is still a war to be fought."  
  
"I'll go back myself," Finnick says. "Give me two weeks, a hover-bike, and a trident."  
  
"You'd never get in, let alone get them out."  
  
"I have plenty of very _close_ friends in the Capitol."  
  
"Absolutely not," Plutarch says. "And there is another rescue operation being planned. Haymitch, they are going to send hovercrafts to District Twelve."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Unfortunately, the airspace is still in Capitol control, so they can't mount an extensive search. You know the area. The fence was knocked down on the west side of town, near the mines -- "  
  
"The Seam," I say.  
  
"All right. The Seam. Where would people from the Seam have gone if they were able to get past the fence?"  
  
"I don't know. Most of them don't go into the woods." I think about it. "And if they did -- if they broke the fence and headed into the woods -- it'd be with someone who knows them. Someone who thinks of them as a safe place."  
  
"I assume you're thinking of Miss Everdeen's cousin?"  
  
"I hope so." I try to imagine where he'd go, but for some reason, all I can think of is Digger. Digger in the golden sun, saying that we weren't always poor. "The lake," I say uncertainly.  
  
"What?"  
  
I nod. That's why I thought of the lake. A safe place to go if anything happened. A place Katniss would know, which means that Gale has a good chance of knowing about it. "They'll need water, and heavy woods for cover. And hunting. There's a lake. It's west and a little bit south. It has everything they'd need."  
  
I hope I'm right. It would be just my luck if Katniss hadn't ever thought to take Gale to the lake her father once pretended to own. But I'd guess the hunting and fishing are good, and there's shelter under the trees, and water.  
  
"It's a start," Plutarch says. "I'll take it to Commander Boggs."  
  
He leaves, strutting around importantly.  
  
"I hope they're there," Finnick says.  
  
"Me, too."  
  
He stays until lights-out, when he goes back to the part of the hospital meant for people whose injuries aren't self-inflicted. He promises to talk to Katniss, even if she won't reply. He also means to talk to Beetee, but that will have to wait until he's out of intensive care.  
  
I dream about Peeta. He and Caesar are in an arena that seems to be a mix of every arena I've ever seen. They fight, but there's no escape. Caesar does better than I would think, but there's too much for him.  
  
I wake up in silence. Underground, there's no way to tell what time of day it is other than by the arbitrary lighting, but I'd guess it's still night by that. I see a nurse working at a desk at the end of my ward. I feel like my heart is beating too fast, and when I lift my hand, it's shaking. I can make it stop if I concentrate, but I know that won't last forever. The shakes are coming.  
  
I don't know what else to do, so I ask if I can go sit with Katniss and Finnick, and he says it's all right with him, but I'm to check in with their nurse before I talk to them.  
  
When I get there, I see why. Katniss, at least, is attached to all sorts of things that would be very helpful to me right now. The ward nurse stations herself at the foot of Katniss's bed for the duration of my visit to make sure I don't take advantage of any of them. This makes me a little self-conscious about saying anything out loud, so I just sit there and hold her hand. Her eyes are slightly open, but she doesn't acknowledge me, even to pull her hand away. Finnick joins us after the daytime lights go on, and tells her a disjointed story about the fishing boat that Annie's father owned.  
  
Just before breakfast, I see something moving along the wall at the edge of my vision. When I turn, nothing is there.  
  
Pretty soon, I guess I'll see it full on. My guess is that it will be one of the bugs that ate Jack Anderson. Or maybe the snakes that Brutus and Enobaria ran into. Or tracker jackers. That would be sufficiently terrifying. As the Muttation Appreciation Society reminds us every year that they appear in the arena, you have to appreciate the classics.  
  
Breakfast comes on metal trays. We each get a bowl of oatmeal, which is mushy and soggy. Finnick has more than I do, since it's been determined that I need to lose a few pounds and he needs to gain them.  
  
"I'll give you some of mine," Finnick says, wrinkling his nose.  
  
"No. That's okay," I say. I take a spoonful, and let it pour back into the bowl.  
  
Looking peeved, Katniss's nurse tells us that our nutritional needs have been very carefully calculated, and we are getting what we require.  
  
I stare at it for a while and decide that I'm just not hungry enough.  
  
At eight-thirty, I am collected by three soldiers, who escort me up to a room full of screens. I half expect to be told to sit by a phone in case a sponsor calls. Instead, I am led to a conference table. Plutarch is there, along with a man he introduces to me as Boggs. Boggs is accompanied by a young woman named Leeg, who gives me the first real smile I've seen here. She pulls out a chair for me.  
  
A door opens, and a severe looking woman comes in. She seems to be all gray. Her hair, her clothes, her eyes. Even her skin seems a little gray. It's like she's been shot in black and white, while everyone else is in admittedly dingy color. She extends her hand slowly, like she thinks I might be contagious, and says, "I am Alma Coin, president of District Thirteen. Please be seated, Mr. Abernathy. Your expertise on District Twelve is needed."  
  
"Katniss knows the woods better than I do."  
  
"Katniss Everdeen is not in any psychological state to be of use to us."  
  
We spend the next hour looking at maps. The lake is not properly marked on any of them, and I have to find the place from memory, though Boggs has a program that extrapolates the land forms enough to help. I am told to think of alternative destinations, in case my guess is wrong. I suggest the river that runs northeast of town. A lot of kids used to be stopped by the trestle going over it, at least until the fence started being more regularly charged and casual escapes stopped being a common bit of childish rule-breaking. If they followed the train tracks, it would get them there.  
  
But I don't see them following the train tracks.  
  
My hands are shaking again, and it's taking a lot more concentration to make them stop. When I suggest going with the rescue party, Boggs looks at me, disgusted, and says that he'd prefer not having medical emergencies on the way to a rescue.  
  
I want to argue, but I can't hide that I'm starting to sweat pretty badly, and the headache is already setting in. I am taken back to the hospital, where they feed me ice water. An older man who is cleaning the floor waits until my nurse is gone, then quickly slips me a white detox tablet. He winks, then goes back to mopping. I don't know or care where he got it from.  
  
I chew it gratefully, and my head clears for a little while.  
  
Finnick comes back to see me. He doesn't have much to say, but for some reason, he seems to want to have me around. He asks if he can tell me a story.  
  
"Since when are you a storyteller?" I ask.  
  
"Peeta," he says. "It helped to tell a story, that night in the arena. It makes more sense of things. Can I tell you about what Annie and I were going to do after the war?"  
  
He does. He does better than he did this morning with Katniss. I think of Peeta. I wonder if they've shown him video of his family dying. I wonder if he realizes I knew it could happen.  
  
Finnick finishes his story in about ten minutes. They have three children by now, and a boat like her dad's. He is teaching the children to swim. She weaves nets. She's "more herself." He never has to look at some miserable rich old woman again and pretend to find her interesting, or tease a groping old man with bad breath. "And we'll have a house," he finishes. "Maybe a dog."  
  
"That sounds nice," I tell him, though I don't think it will ever happen. Annie's too damaged, and Finnick has too many horrors chasing him. It does sound nice, though. Maybe they can manage the dog.  
  
I know I'm going to throw up only a second before I do. I have no idea what I'm throwing up, since I haven't eaten much. Finnick gets the pan from the table and holds my head. He tells me I'll be okay.  
  
Plutarch comes to update us on the rescue mission. Boggs is controlling it from Thirteen; Leeg is leading it on site. They have found a sizable group of District Twelve residents in the woods by the lake. Gale Hawthorne is, indeed, leading them. Primrose and Ruth Everdeen are with them. No other names come up.  
  
Mentally, I thank Digger for the tip.  
  
I insist on being up and about when the rescue mission returns. Plutarch objects on the grounds that I look like hell and am already starting to see non-existent bugs at the edges of my vision again. I tell him that I still have a day or so before the real problems are going to start. I can ignore the bugs and control the shakes for a little while.  
  
He gives in. Maybe it's compassion, maybe he just doesn't feel like arguing with me. Either way, I go with him down to the hangar, where he leaves me in the control booth and goes off on his own business.  
  
In the control booth, Boggs is in contact with the three hovercrafts that went to District Twelve. He looks at me distastefully when I come in, then goes back to a conversation with a captain. "How many? Can you fly with that many?"  
  
"There are a lot?" I ask.  
  
Boggs doesn't answer, but he gestures to a young soldier sitting beside him. The young soldier stands at attention and studiously avoids looking at me. "Reports indicate shy of nine hundred survivors," he says. "They were at the location you suggested."  
  
"Nine hundred?" I repeat. I want to celebrate -- nine hundred? Then I realize, it's less than a tenth of the population of District Twelve. More than eight thousand people are dead -- people I know, people I care about. Everything is gone.  
  
"Take it slow," Boggs says. "These people don't need a hovercraft crash. But you should be able to fit three hundred into each. If you need to jettison cargo, do it. We can go back for anything important."  
  
_Yeah, right,_ I think. _Anything important except for Peeta Mellark. Or Johanna Mason. Or Portia and Peeta's prep team. Or Effie Trinket._  
  
I think of Effie's cat, staring up from under the television. I should have at least taken the cat. Maybe I could at least be trusted to competently rescue a cat.  
  
My hand goes to the bandages on my face, where Katniss clawed me. If it scars, I'll leave the scars alone.  
  
Teams of medics and soldiers are assembling in the hangar, and I go to join them, feeling out of place among the grim ranks of citizens of Thirteen, though I guess I don't look much different now. While we wait for the hovercrafts, I help them set up several identical triage areas. A few minutes before the hovercrafts arrive, Alma Coin appears on a catwalk above the hangar, flanked by Plutarch and Fulvia. Someone sets up a sound system for her.  
  
The soldiers and medics and I clear the floor as the hovercrafts enter, landing softly on their launch pads. These are huge cargo crafts, and the exits are meant for large vehicles and equipment. There are no ladders with handy electric cling on them. These have large ramps, which lower from the cargo bays to the floor.  
  
It seems like a long time before people start to come out, but when they do, it's a flood. The survivors of Twelve are dirty and frightened, and many are injured. It's hard to tell who's who. Almost everyone seems to be from the Seam.  
  
"Haymitch?"  
  
I look up at the voice. Prim Everdeen limps out of the crowd and throws her arms around me. "Sweetheart, are you all right?" I say.  
  
"Katniss," she says.  
  
"She's in the hospital. She took a shock. But she'll be okay. They're looking after her. Your mom?"  
  
"We're okay," she says cautiously, looking over her shoulder. "We were watching at the Hawthornes' house. Gale got everyone out. Or... everyone he could..." She starts shaking. Not crying, just shaking wildly. "Haymitch, the Mellarks were in town. They didn't get out. Ed was in the stocks for hitting Thread."  
  
"Why did he hit Thread?"  
  
"One of the Peacekeepers hit Delly Cartwright."  
  
"Oh. Delly's dead, too?"  
  
"No. She's actually here. She and her brother were with the Cooleys. Ed made her leave because she'd been there all afternoon. He said she needed a break. Leevy's her friend. Delly's been trying to keep people's spirits up."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. I think it's the only way she can deal with what happened to Ed."  
  
There is a feedback whine from above, and everyone looks up at President Coin. She waits until the hum of conversation fades, then says, "I am President Alma Coin, and I welcome our friends from District Twelve. Like you, we in Thirteen have suffered at the hands of the Capitol, and like you, we have survived. Like you, we are angry. Like you, we want to take the power of the Capitol, and put Panem back in the hands of its people!"  
  
This gets a cheer, but it is mostly from the workers in Thirteen. The survivors from Twelve still look tired and beaten, and like they'd rather have a hot meal and a bath than a war.  
  
"Together, we are strong! We have allied with other districts who are fighting as we speak, and the days of the Capitol are numbered! With the voice of the Mockingjay, we will rally Panem together, and with the strength of arms, we will overthrow the tyrant who murders our children. Welcome, my friends. Welcome home."  
  
She spreads her arms expansively, but there is nothing generous about her. No wonder she needs a mouthpiece to spread the word. Even her own people aren't especially inspired, and she can't read the crowd at all. I can't help but think of Peeta -- how he would make everyone feel safe, how he would be going among the survivors, speaking softly to them -- and again I see him in my mind, pulling back Brutus's head, slitting his throat, then screaming... screaming until the Capitol took him...  
  
Prim touches my hand. "Haymitch, what is it?"  
  
"We lost Peeta," I tell her. "The Capitol got to him first."  
  
She presses her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no. Does Katniss know?"  
  
I nod, and lift up my bandages. "She wasn't happy with me."  
  
"It's not your fault," Prim says. "None of this is your fault."  
  
I have a feeling that this will not be a majority opinion. Someone calls for Prim and she waves. A moment later, the crowd parts. Ruth Everdeen comes forward, looking as absent as she did after Glen died. Prim guides her to a chair and sits her down. Behind her, Gale Hawthorne, his arm in a makeshift splint, is leading Posy, who is clinging to him. Vick and Rory, looking as cut up as they'd be after an arena knife fight, are flanking him. Hazelle comes up slowly beside them. Her eyes seem sunken, and her arms are folded across her chest.  
  
I reach out, and she flinches away.  
  
"Hazelle, I -- "  
  
"It's all gone, Haymitch," she says. "Everything's gone." She looks at me blankly, then turns and walks away.  
  
Gale shakes his head. "You did what had to be done," he says. "What Snow did is on his head."  
  
There is a commotion, and a sharp looking young soldier appears and salutes Gale, who doesn't seem to have the slightest idea of how to respond to it.  
  
"Soldier Hawthorne," he says. "President Coin has been told of your leadership. She would like to meet with you."  
  
"Can I clean up first and get my family settled?" Gale asks, handing Posy to Rory.  
  
"Facilities will be provided for everyone. Please come with me."  
  
Bemused, Gale follows him away. Rory and Vick take Posy to follow Hazelle.  
  
I sit between Prim and Ruth Everdeen. A girl with a huge gash on her head is brought into our triage area.  
  
Ruth blinks slowly, then says, almost too softly to hear, "I can help with that." She moves out of her seat like a woman in a dream, kneels beside the girl, and starts cleaning the wound. "Primrose," she says. "See where we're needed."  
  
Prim squeezes my hand, then goes off to seek out the wounded.  
  
I stand uselessly in the strangely silent chaos, watching the remains of my people wandering, shell-shocked and numb, strangers in a strange land.  
  
For a while, I wander from group to group. Gray eyes look up at me dully, only some with any recognition. Old Sae gives me a fierce hug, but can't seem to think of anything to say. She has her granddaughter with her, but not her daughter or son-in-law. I look for Jonadab Mellark, who I didn't actually see burn, but I don't find him. River Boldwood's sister asks me if we are in a real place, or if we've reached some kind of afterlife. I tell her it's real enough. She cries. I don't see any of the other tributes' families here.  
  
The group slowly thins out as officials from Thirteen lead them off to their living quarters, and by sunset, which I can see in a twinkling red light, I'm all but alone. I go back to the hospital, since I have no other place to be, but I don't go down to my drunkard's ward. Instead, I go back to Katniss's bed. Gale has been to see her, the nurse tells me. She knows. She had to be sedated again.  
  
I look at her there, buried in the blankets. She looks like the others, like all of them, the ghosts in my head, the ghosts up in the hangar. She could be dead, for all she's seeing or feeling. Her hands are limp by her sides. I take one of them.   
  
"I'm sorry," I tell her, then kiss her cheek. She doesn't magically awaken. The words feeling strange and foreign on my tongue, I say, "I love you, sweetheart. I love you a lot."  
  
It doesn't change anything.  
  
I wait beside her in the night, as the shakes start to creep up on me, holding her hand while the ghosts crowd in around us.

 

**The End**


	28. Appendix: Star Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just for fun. A little look at the horrendous musical Haymitch and Prim watch in Chapter 22.

# Star-Crossed (musical)

_**Star-Crossed**_ is a musical theater production based on the events of the 74th, and penultimate, Hunger Games. Set in District Twelve, the Capitol, and the arena, it captures the atmosphere of the last days of the Capitol Empire in Panem. The story follows Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the final two tributes from District Twelve, from the day of their Reaping, when her act of altruism changed the face of the Games, through the publicity in the Capitol, through the death-haunted second act in the arena.  
  
The musical was first performed in the Capitol, with politically-based edits from rebel leader Fulvia Cardew, only months after the events occurred, with neither the knowledge nor approval of any of the key participants. Banned in the Capitol during the civil war, it began to appear in guerilla productions in the districts, often showing only key scenes of rebellion. Ten years after the war, composer and lyricist Stephen Bregmen, who wrote the original libretto under his stage name, Julian Day, restored his original lyrics, made changes based on the historical record, and launched a modest production in District One, in which he played the part of mentor Haymitch Abernathy. While participants in the events did not offer explicit approval of the project, none opposed it. |  _Star-Crossed_  
|  Music: | Stephen Bregman (aka, Julian Day)  
---|---  
Lyrics | Stephen Bregman Fulvia Cardew (first production)  
Basis | 74th Hunger Games, historical event  
  
## Background

After the conclusion of the 74th Hunger Games, interest in victors Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark was high in the Capitol. Stephen Bregman, then a popular young singer under the stage name Julian Day, was invited to participate in the victory celebrations in District Twelve. There, he was impressed with many of the people he met, particularly Primrose Everdeen, and he set about learning all he could about the Games and the victors. The narrative of the Games had been a popular topic of poetry and songs, but Bregman wanted to do more with it, and set about the ambitious project of a full musical production.  
  
To his stated annoyance, the script was given to Capitol censors to overhaul, but they were not aware that the chosen censor, Fulvia Cardew, was a committed rebel, whose changes were deliberately introduced to support the rebellion as she saw it. Bregman was never satisfied with the changes, which he felt undermined what he had enjoyed in District Twelve. When the Capitol fell, he restored the script to its original state and added three numbers, but opted not to seek corrections from key participants, particularly on the famous "argument" scene on the roof of the Training Center, which cameras could see but not hear. Bregman says, "I suppose I got it wrong, but you know... it's actually private. Maybe it's better that I don't try to make it right. Consider the private parts fiction."

## Reception

The first production in the Capitol was financially very successful, riding the wave of interest from the Games themselves. Critics in the Capitol hailed it as "a celebration of true love" and "a merry romp through District culture." Bregman keeps the latter review framed, saying, "I will never, I can only hope, see such a ridiculous review again." The show did not spread to the districts until a television airing during the Third Quarter Quell, now known as the Final Games, and response was less positive, though ensuing events historically eclipsed these reactions. Ruth Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy recall Primrose Everdeen's extreme discomfort with her role (one of the re-written sections). District One critic Sparkle Eldin said in the next morning's local telecast, "The music is compulsively hummable, which may be all we can expect from teen phenom Day, but the rest of this embarrassing absurdity should be left in the bloody grass outside the Cornucopia." The few reports that came in from other districts, many already in rebellion, indicated that the musical was considered in poor taste.  
  
The public in districts outside of Twelve was not as offended. Known guerilla productions were staged in Districts Four, Six, and Eleven, and it is likely that others rose up during the war, some adding numbers based on their own tributes. When Bregman re-introduced his original script, with its grimmer version of life in District Twelve and more humanized versions of Katniss and Peeta -- not to mention Prim, whose character as written he said Cardew "utterly butchered" -- reviews were cautiously optimistic.

## Synopsis

Act I  
In the original production on the Capitol stage, the musical opens in District Twelve, early in the morning before the Reaping. Citizens sing about their difficult lives, and how they try to help one another get by ("Life In District Twelve"). Katniss Everdeen and her cousin Gale Hawthorne deliver food to hungry families. The Mellark family offers shelter to homeless orphans. Ruth and Primrose Everdeen separate out their medicinal herbs, then Primrose goes to the home of an elderly woman who needs medical care. On the way, she ruminates about life in a poor small town ("Here In My Home"). This includes a ballet in a field of flowers and, infamously, a dance with a human-sized butterfly.  
  
In Bregman's restored opening, used in all subsequent productions, the show opens inside Primrose's nightmare ("One Little Slip"), then, upon her waking, moves to the song of denial in town ("It'll Never Be Me"), where many minor characters try to find a moment's peace before the Reaping by denying that it's possible that their names will be drawn. Post-war productions include Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne hunting illegally during this number, though both characters reject the idea that it can't be them. Peeta Mellark is the first to arrive in the square for the Reaping, after making sure his affairs are in order because he suspects he will be Reaped and wishes he'd had the courage to speak to Katniss earlier ("I Have A Feeling").  
  
The company gathers for the Reaping, covering their fear with anger that lives are being interrupted in this way ("More Important Things To Do"). Katniss expresses that the most important thing she can do is protect her sister, "the only important thing I'll ever have to do," which she has done by making sure Primrose's name is only in once. Effie Trinket arrives and argues with Haymitch Abernathy about his drinking ("You're More Than This"/"Victor"), then goes out into the square for the Reaping ("The Reaping"). When Primrose's name is drawn, Katniss comes forward to volunteer ("I Volunteer"). The theme of "The Reaping" returns as Peeta's name is drawn, but is drowned out by the crowd echoing "I Volunteer" until both tributes are on the stage with Effie.  
  
At the train station, family and friends say goodbye ("Goodbyes") and Katniss promises Primrose that she will try to win. Then Effie, Haymitch, Katniss, and Peeta board the train, all of them feeling isolated ("Alone") as it goes to the Capitol. When they arrive ("The Arrival of the Tributes"), they see the other, stronger-looking tributes as they are taken to their stylists. All of them, though, are feeling insecure, as the theme of "Alone" gradually takes over.  
  
In the Training Center, Katniss and Peeta meet their stylists, Cinna and Portia, who have been plotting to do something amazing at the tribute parade and know it may be a hard sell ("What Shall We Do About You?") After floating more and more absurd ideas, they finally say that their intent is to set Katniss and Peeta on fire, as other stylists share plans with their tributes ("Not To Worry, But...") The tributes are presented to the crowd and the president ("Tribute Parade"/"Treaty of the Treason"), and the crowd is thoroughly distracted by District Twelve ("They're On Fire!") Post-war productions often include a humiliated President Snow trying to make threats over the din.  
  
The next day, training begins ("Training"). Katniss tries to keep to herself, though Rue McKissack follows her ("Big Sisters"), while Peeta attempts to make friends with the others, who ridicule him for only knowing about baking. He tries to use this very skill to get to know them and their districts ("Bread"). At the end of training, the stylists, Haymitch, and Effie wait for the scores ("Eleven"), then prepare Katniss and Peeta for their interviews. Peeta is keeping a secret about his plan ("I Have A Feeling (Reprise 1)"). At the interviews, Caesar Flickerman introduces each tribute and gets a brief response ("The Interviews"), some trying to be intimidating, others funny. Katniss is confused, but is able to lean on her fabulous dress. Peeta confesses his feelings to her and the whole nation ("I Have A Feeling (Reprise 2)").  
  
Late that night, Katniss and Peeta argue about his confession in front of the whole nation ("Who Do You Think You Are?"), which she thinks should have been discussed privately first. He complains that loving her is all he has going for him. She tells him to get "some other trick." As she storms off, the scene opens out to the full company in the Capitol and District Twelve, worrying about what will come next ("What Happens Tomorrow?").  
  
  
Act II  
The tributes come up into the arena, each nervous about something ("Countdown"), as watchers around Panem sit at the edge of their seats. As the Games begin, friends and family of Katniss and Peeta, in the Capitol and District Twelve, express their desire to have them home again ("Safe"). Katniss runs from the Cornucopia, but Peeta catches Clove and demands an alliance with Districts One, Two, and Four ("Allies"). Later that night, the pack runs across the District Eight tribute, who Peeta's group tortures, much to Peeta's disgust, when he goes back to end her pain and realizes what his alliance means to someone other than Katniss ("Who Do You Think You Are? (Reprise)").  
  
The next day, Katniss is trapped in a forest fire ("On Fire"), and runs to take refuge in a tree, but Peeta's group finds her there. Peeta tries to get the bow to her, but can't do it, partly because she won't acknowledge him ("Can You See Me Here?"). When they settle for the night, Katniss hears a song nearby and finds Rue ("Mockingjay Call"), who indicates a tracker jacker nest. Katniss drops it on the alliance ("The Swarm") and steals the bow, but passes out. Rue drags her into the woods ("Big Sisters (reprise)") and treats her wounds. Meanwhile, Peeta stands up to Cato and gets injured, pulling himself to the river ("If This Is The End, I'm All Right").  
  
Back in District Twelve, the families are distraught, and turn to each other. Dannel Mellark and Ruth Everdeen remember their old relationship ("The Best of Friends and More"), while Mirrem Mellark finds herself feeling out of place. Primrose Everdeen takes comfort with her cousins, who entertain her with a wild story about a bear in the woods ("Bear Hunting").  
  
Katniss awakens two days later, and she and Rue forge an alliance of their own ("Making Plans"). They eat together and decide to destroy the other alliance's food supply. Rue teaches Katniss to use mockingjays to communicate ("You'll Know I'm Here"), then they split up to set their trap. Katniss goes to destroy the food. Rue sets fires, but, as she searches for Katniss after the explosion, becomes caught in a trap. Katniss finds her, but it is too late, as Marvel has run her through with a spear ("I Did It"). Katniss kills Marvel, then sings Rue to Sleep ("Meadow Song"). District Eleven sends her bread ("Bread (reprise)"), which makes her think of Peeta, just as Claudius announces that they can win together ("The Announcement").  
  
The next morning, Katniss searches for Peeta ("The Search") and they find each other ("Frosting"/"The Bath"). She finds a cave, and they go to it. Peeta believes she should let him die, but she refuses ("Infected"). Finally, to make him stop talking, she kisses him.  
  
In District Twelve, people are stunned at cold Katniss Everdeen falling in love, and express varying opinions on it ("The Everdeen Girl"). In post-war productions, Gale Hawthorne laments the lie he's been telling ("Cousins"). Primrose comes out and tells them to stop, because Katniss has always been able to love ("My Papa's Daughter").  
  
Katniss and Peeta spend days in the cave, talking about odd things while they try to keep warm and fed ("I'm Starting to Feel Like I Know You"). Finally, Claudius announces a Feast for the remaining tributes, where Peeta's medicine will be available ("This Is It"/"Don't Try"). Katniss drugs Peeta to be able to go, and faces Clove ("Knife Dance"). Thresh rescues her, then lets her go ("This Time"). She returns from the feast and gives Peeta his medicine, then faints. He sleeps on. In the Capitol, Effie, Cinna, Portia, and Haymitch wonder if they've lost both of them ("Did We Go Too Far?").  
  
Peeta wakes up and finds Katniss ill. He takes care of her ("My Turn") until she is strong enough to move. Meanwhile, Thresh, Cato, and Finch continue their own battles ("Countdown (Reprise)"), until Cato kills Thresh and Finch swallows nightlock berries ("Nightlock 1"). Peeta and Katniss realize that they only have Cato left. They find him at the Cornucopia, when the mutts come, in the shape of the other tributes ("The Tributes Arrive (Reprise)"). They fight on top of the Cornucopia ("The Fight At The Cornucopia"), and Cato falls to the mutts. As Katniss and Peeta listen to it, they try to shut it out ("More Important Things To Do (Reprise)"), but it falls flat, and finally, Katniss kills Cato, only to have Claudius announce that they now must kill each other.  
  
Peeta offers to die, but Katniss holds up nightlock berries. All members of the company sing of their struggles as Katniss and Peeta weigh their options ("Nightlock 2"). Finally, they are declared joint victors.  
  
They join Haymitch again in the Capitol, where he congratulates them ("You're More Than This/Victor" (Reprise)"). They return home to an adoring crowd, and no idea what comes next ("What Happens Tomorrow? (Reprise)"/"Finale").

 

## Production

The play is usually performed on a two-level stage, with a lower platform representing district Twelve. The upper platform is framed by a "screen" device, which allows the illusion of District Twelve residents watching what is happening in the Capitol. In an experimental production in District Five, the District Twelve characters were dispersed among the audience. This was not well-received, and made the audience uncomfortable at finding themselves in the spotlight, as well as causing sound problems.

## Response from principal characters

President Gale Hawthorne saw the production in District Two, with the new number introduced to deal with the fact that the Hawthorne family was not related to the Everdeens. He said it was an uncomfortable experience, but he recognized the artistry. His companion, Johanna Mason, apparently referencing early reviews, described the show as "a murderous romp through District pathologies. What's not to love?"  
  
Effie Trinket was an early fan of the show, but her experiences since the war have colored her opinion. "I'm just not sure it's good for songs and dancing," she told _Capitol Chronicle_. "It's not very cheerful, when you think about it." Haymitch Abernathy claims to be "usually too drunk" to remember the end.  
  
Winnow Robinson-Neill, sister of tribute Thresh Robinson, has staged several productions on District Four's waterfront, with her own added number for Thresh. "It may not be the exact truth," she says. "But then, neither was what everyone thought was at the time."  
  
Ruth Everdeen saw the original production when it aired during the Quarter Quell, and refuses to attend any further performances. "It's a bad joke," she says. "And I don't mind speaking for Dannel -- or even Mirrem -- when I say that it was not, to put it mildly, remotely true about any of us."  
  
When the production finally arrived in District Twelve -- ironically, its last stop -- Katniss and Peeta Mellark were guests of honor. Peeta Mellark praised the performances and thanked Stephen Bregman for trying to understand, but says that he doesn't believe his parents would have cared for it, and wishes that his brothers hadn't been forgotten.  
  
Katniss Mellark said at the time, "It will be better in two hundred years, when no one knows the real people. Then again, my daughter is already singing 'More Important Things to Do' and 'What Shall We Do About You?' until I can't get them out of my head. I sing them in the shower. I just pretend I don't know what they're supposedly about."  
  
Nine years later, Pearl Mellark played the part of Effie Trinket in a school production. She was offered the part of her mother, but refused it. "How weird would that be?" she asks, shuddering dramatically. "It's weird enough to pretend to kiss Haymitch. Gross."


	29. Appendix: Gramps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I've done a good bit of editing on this story to work on continuity with the "End of the World" series, I'm just adding a bit to make the edits worth everyone's while. It seemed like a good time to have a look at what was going on in the streets of the Capitol... and to check in with an old Peacekeeper named Justinian Benz.

**Appendix:  
Gramps**

  
"Aurelian Benz?"  
  
I have been waiting so long, squeezed up against the wall of the Peacekeeper depot, that I almost don't notice when they actually call my name. The middle-aged man on my right jabs me in the side with his elbow and gives me a dirty look. He was here the last time they dropped me out here, and I think he'd already been here a while. He hasn't been able to move, though I can't imagine what privilege he imagines I'm on my way to enjoy.  
  
It takes a little bit of effort to stand up. My joints don't want to unbend, and my left leg is asleep from about the mid-calf down, from where it was pressing against the metal bar of the bench. I limp out of the crowd until I'm clear enough of it for the Peacekeepers to grab me and drag me toward the interrogation room. I wonder if this will be the time that I won't come out of it.  
  
This is the third time they've interrogated me since they picked me up outside the Training Center four days ago, after I forged credentials as a hairdresser to get in and check on Peeta Mellark.  
  
I'd been crashing with a real hairdresser; they don't pay them enough for decent lodging, and he was one of about a dozen of us boarding in the attic of a row of shops. He was just taken on for District One this year, and I guess they started at the top of the list for a replacement. When they called for him, he said he was suffering too much ennui after the victors' betrayal to even come to the phone. I put on a hat and sunglasses, changed my voice a little, then went back to the phone and told them I'd be right in. Caesar Flickerman probably noticed that my identification didn't match my picture, but he didn't say anything.  
  
It just seemed like a good way to get information, which struck me as a great idea. Tazzy can get to Effie Trinket. I haven't figured out how either of us is ever going to find the Capitol rebels to get the news to Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen -- wherever they are -- but one step at a time, I guess.  
  
I probably should have started with a baby step, especially since I'm on Mr. Abernathy's sponsor list, and ran an errand for him.  
  
The one saving grace is that my name was the only one on the sponsor list. Mr. Abernathy must have realized what was going to happen, because he didn't put the other names on it, even after they insisted. The Capitol has no idea that Tazzy and Junie exist (outside of their soliciting arrests, anyway), let alone little Solly. They're free to go wherever they want to go, as long as I keep my big mouth shut.  
  
I'm nearly dragged into someone else being pulled from another interrogation room. He's an old man, and he still has the remains of a green and gold "11" painted onto his face. I've seen him playing chess in the park sometimes. He might be the guy who once gave Solly a few coins to run and buy him a paper. Someone has blacked his eye. I think we passed each other this way earlier. He's crying now, as he's shoved back into the waiting area.  
  
My guard opens the door to interrogation room number four -- at least it's a new room this time, I guess -- and pushes me inside. He closes the door behind him to get back to the business of handling the crowded waiting area.  
  
The woman at the table is looking at someone in the shadows, smiling brightly. She turns when I come in. "You must be Aurelian," she says pleasantly.  
  
"Since you people already interrogated me twice, you know that."  
  
She waves her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry about that." She looks over her shoulder. "Your grandfather's here to pick you up."  
  
I straighten up and look at the form in the shadows, my heart sinking. Gramps is well into his sixties now, but still carries himself like a young man -- shoulders squared, a loping grace about him. I can imagine him back in the days when he was a Peacekeeper (it's harder to imagine him on that side of the law). He has tightly curled blond hair, now about half white, and his blue eyes have a kind of calculated twinkle to them. He drops into the chair beside the interrogator. "Thanks, Millie," he says, then looks at me. "This is Milonia Vargas," he says. "She's a peach. Her aunt's an old friend of mine -- we came up together in the ranks. She was the only other Capitolite in my training group. I always knew Millie'd grow up just as pretty."  
  
I narrow my eyes and get a good look, wondering if this is some form of aunt, but I don't think so, given his flirtatious attitude. There's not a lot I think is out of the question when it comes to Gramps, but flirting with a family member would be beyond the bounds even for him. "Why are you here?"  
  
"I just heard you got jammed up. Sorry it took so long." He grins at the interrogator again. "You didn't really drag him down here just because he sponsored Abernathy, did you?"  
  
"Well…"  
  
"He's not the only sponsor. I know you haven't been dragging in the old ladies from the Grove!"  
  
"Of course not. But, well… Aurelian was seen running errands! Abernathy did call him, Justinian."  
  
Gramps rolls his eyes hugely. "Come on, now. Half the Capitol was wild for those two kids. Aurelian couldn't afford to sponsor by much, could he?" He looks at me.  
  
"No. No, of course not."  
  
He turns back to Vargas. "So, he asked if he could help out some other way. Probably doing a sandwich run or something."  
  
"An Effie run, actually," I say, truthfully enough. "He just needed me to find his escort."  
  
"Did he say why he needed her back so badly?" Vargas asks.  
  
"Oh, please," Gramps says. "He knew he was blowing town. Probably wanted to give her a proper goodbye. You must have heard rumors." She nods. So far, Gramps is mostly telling the truth, nothing that can't be verified. He shrugs and winks. "I'd probably give a girl like that a proper goodbye, too."  
  
Vargas blushes. "Well, I…" She purses her lips. "For the record, Miss Trinket has also been arrested."  
  
"Which is nothing Aurrie knows about."  
  
She shrugs. "Fine. But that's not all. Aside from putting in quite a lot of effort for a Games sponsorship, the fact remains that he forged credentials so he could sneak into a secured area and see Peeta Mellark!"  
  
Gramps's eyes widen, then the grin comes back. "Sounds like he's got a good skill there."  
  
"Justinian, it _is_ a serious charge."  
  
"So, he's a fan. Come on, Millie, you did things just as crazy. I seem to remember you pretending to have a search order for Arcadius Drew's dressing room when you first got on the squad."  
  
She blushes. "Well…" She shakes her head and sighs. "It's probably not good to be quite so… over-attached to District Twelve right now."  
  
"Aw, that's my fault," Gramps says. "I used to be stationed out there. I probably told Aurrie about a thousand stories about District Twelve when he weren't any higher than a skeeter's knee, as they'd say out there. Right, Aurrie?"  
  
"Yeah," I say, though this is the first I've heard about Gramps being stationed in District Twelve. He almost never talks about his days as a Peacekeeper. "I always liked the ones about the bakery. Gramps said it was the best in Panem. I remember that one you told me about getting covered in flour when their delivery crate busted up by the train tracks."  
  
"Good times."  
  
"That's why I wanted to meet Peeta."  
  
"The bakery," Gramps muses. "It was good to see that place again. It's a damned shame what happened out there."  
  
"Abernathy brought it on them," Vargas says, and I try not to strike out. They showed the bombing of District Twelve less than an hour after the arena break-out, and she's talking about it like it was a slap on the wrist.  
  
Gramps, of course, doesn't miss a beat. "Oh, you'll have no argument from me. The Abernathys were always trouble-makers. Haymitch's father burned down their house once. I had to put his mom in the stocks once for back-talking me. She had the baby in a basket beside her the whole time. He sucked up rebellion with his mother's milk. But that's not Aurelian's problem."  
  
"Well, I suppose…"  
  
Gramps nods to me. "Abernathy didn't have you helping him blow out the arena, did he?"  
  
"No," I say, truthfully enough.  
  
"And he didn't have you running rebel messages?"  
  
"No." (Also true -- he didn't ask me to do it at all.)  
  
"You see?" he says to Vargas. "Come on, honey, you know there's nothing here. Abernathy's been a rebel for years. He's not going to suddenly need to recruit a teenage sponsor that he barely knows."  
  
Vargas glances through my file, then sighs. "All right. I don't see anything here that's a real red flag. But you need to know that he's being watched." She looks at me. "And don't forge any more documents! I'll let it go this time, for Justinian, but I can't very well overlook it again."  
  
"Message received," Gramps says. "Can I take him home now?"  
  
"I don't know…"  
  
"You're the squad captain. You can make the call."  
  
She sighs. "All right. Take him." And to me: "But stay out of trouble, will you?"  
  
I swear that I will. While she's reading me my release statement ("The accused understands the necessity of protecting the innocent citizens of the Capitol…"), I see Gramps going through my folder. He pulls out a sheet of paper and shoves it in his pocket.  
  
Five minutes later, we're out the door of the depot.  
  
I stop at the top of the steep staircase. "What are you really doing here, Gramps?" I ask.  
  
"Taking you home, where you belong." He heads down the stairs to a car that's parked on the street, and opens the door. "Get in."  
  
I get in. Gramps gets into the driver's seat and starts it up by hotwiring it.  
  
"Whose car is this?" I ask.  
  
"No idea. Don't start lecturing; I'm taking it back to the lot I found it in." He turns left and starts heading up into the foothills. "Are you okay? Did they rough you up?"  
  
"I'm fine. Hungry. It's been a few days."  
  
"We'll get lunch at the Hole. I can spring for that. Then we need to get you lost before Millie notices that she let me scam her."  
  
I can't think of anything to say to this, so I don't say anything. Gramps was technically my legal guardian from the time my dad died when I was eleven until I turned eighteen, but he spent time in and out of jail for various scams. He mostly didn't get convicted, but I spent a lot of time visiting him while he waited for trials. I lived with various neighbors, and sometimes on my own. I know Gramps loves me -- that's never been an issue -- but he's never been much of a caretaker.  
  
I watch the city roll by around us. On the surface, it looks like it did the week before the Quell. People are going about their business, shops are open, sidewalk cafes are full. There's not an undue Peacekeeper presence on the streets, though there are a maybe a few more visible than I'm used to. The big public viewscreens aren't showing anything volatile. At the moment, there's a cooking show on.  
  
But underneath it, I can tell that something is very wrong. The people buzzing around on their errands have their eyes cast down. In the cafes, people are dressed somberly. The Peacekeepers are standing on alert. We pass a bus stop near the edge of downtown, and I see a little girl crying miserably into her stuffed animal's fur, while a boy I take for her older brother -- he seems to be protecting her -- leans over and tries to get her to stop.  
  
"What's happening?" I ask as we head up into the rich residential areas.  
  
"We're at war," Gramps says. "You know about District Twelve --"  
  
"Yeah. Is there anything new?"  
  
"No. It's burned to the ground. The whole district. Most likely, no survivors. They're trapped in a damned cage up there." He pulls in a sharp breath through his teeth, and I think for a minute that I'm seeing the Gramps who lives under the charming grifter he wears like a costume. "Goddamn _Snow_."  
  
I don't say anything. Gramps has never been friendly toward the government, but he usually keeps his tongue still about it. He's good at self-preservation.  
  
"I _was_ stationed there, you know," he says. "I liked it there. There was a woman. Ella Maginnis. Butcher's daughter. She was before your grandma, you know? She was kind of a bitch, as it turned out, but I never fell so hard for anyone, before or since."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"She married someone else. Of course she did. I couldn't very well marry her, could I? I was still on the force." He sniffs. "Her husband was a jackass. I noticed the bruises on her right away. They had a daughter the first year. Rooba. I saw a bruise on the baby's arm once, too. I assumed it was him."  
  
I frown. "You assumed?"  
  
"Let's say, I realized later that the poor kid didn't have much of a good example either way. I was too besotted to see it at the time, though. Anyway, the husband broke Ella's arm. I got into a fight with him. He pulled a knife. I pulled a gun."  
  
"That's why they fired you?"  
  
"For killing a violent townie?" He shakes his head. "No. They transferred me for that, a few months later. They said I was a distraction, since half the town was saying I murdered the bastard. By then, I was spending a lot of time at the butcher shop again, and they all said that was why I did it. And one day, I noticed that the baby still had bruises. I didn't know it was possible to fall out of love with someone so fast."  
  
I'm not sure what to say. "Oh."  
  
He sighs. "They fired me when I went AWOL trying to get back to Ella and the girls. At that point, mostly because I didn't want to leave them with her."  
  
"Girls?"  
  
"She had another," he says quietly. "Born after I left."  
  
This sinks in. "They were yours, weren't they?"  
  
"I'm not sure about the older one. The second one, definitely. She was born a year after the husband died. Not that the whole district didn't pretend it was just a really long pregnancy. I didn't know about it when I left. Ella wrote to me and told me about her, and that's when I tried to get back. My superiors had read the letter, and I guess I'd have been court-martialed for fraternizing and getting caught at it, anyway. I ended up doing three years breaking rocks in Two, then I got a dishonorable and came back home. Met your grandma."  
  
I know the rest. He and Grandma cooked up one scheme after another until she died, scamming a living out of the Capitol's rich and gullible. They were always on the verge of getting caught, and sometimes, they actually _did_ get caught. My dad used to shill for them when he was little, at least until he met my mother when they were sixteen, and when I came along, they tried to go straight. Of course, Dad was the one who ended up dying in jail -- debtors' prison. Gramps hates the loan sharks more than anyone else. He takes great pleasure in bankrupting them whenever he can. "Did you ever see your daughter?" I ask.  
  
He shakes his head. "No. At least not until she showed up on television. She looked like my sister. And now she's dead."  
  
I look away. "I'm sorry, Gramps."  
  
He snorts and pulls into a shared parking lot in the center of a lush park. "Yeah, well. I can't do anything for her, and I can't think of much I can do for her boy up there -- " He nods over his shoulder, toward where the Training Center rises up against the skyline.  
  
Everything falls into place. "Her… you mean Peeta Mellark, don't you? It's his mother you saw."  
  
He nods. "Let's just say, it's a good thing they never ran a DNA scan on you to check against his. They'd have never bought the crazy fan theory if they'd noticed certain things." He parks and puts the wires back where they belong, killing the engine. "Anyway, I figured I'd get you out of jail. I could at least manage _that_."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"You going to fight in this war?"  
  
I nod. I _think_ we both know that I'm not talking about joining the Peacekeepers.  
  
He nods back, looking out the front window, across the valley toward the lake. The view is pretty amazing for a parking lot. "War's ugly, Aurrie. This one's going to be uglier than Snow is expecting, I think. You're not going to be the only kid in the Capitol fighting. Snow overplayed his hand. A lot of people are angry."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Do you know where to go?" He looks over. "If you don't, I know some people who could help you."  
  
This honestly surprises me. "Are _you_ fighting?"  
  
"I _was_ trained for it," he says. "And I guess I'm motivated enough."  
  
"You're also sixty-five."  
  
"So, I probably won't be brawling, though I don't rule it out." He thinks about it. "I've got a few marks to hit. I can empty some bank accounts before they can get to mischief. I know some good rebels who can hide it then."  
  
"Gramps, you're not the only con man in the Capitol. Snow will have people out in force pretending to be rebels -- "  
  
"And real rebels from half a dozen of our local rebellions will be out, too, all grinding their favorite axes." He thinks about it. "We're going to have to get the local rebellions on the same page, too."  
  
"But what if the ones you know -- "  
  
" -- are Snow's plants?" Gramps shrugs. "If so, they're pretty long-term plants, and they haven't turned anyone in yet."  
  
"Who are we talking about?"  
  
He raises an eyebrow, then says, "I guess if you've already gotten to the point of running errands for Abernathy and forging your own papers, you're big enough to know. You remember the Sixty-Fifth Games? Odair's Games? You came with me to one of those parties."  
  
I remember. The party was in the basement of a club. I was eight, and I remember walking through the park wearing a Finnick tee shirt. The Games were still on, but everyone just assumed he'd win. There were teenage girls swearing their undying love to him. I'd never been to a Games party before, but my parents were in jail and Gramps was taking care of me, and he had business. The man he was meeting was at the party. There were sparklers out front, and Finnick posters on the wall, and lots of little booths where you could pretend to be standing in the chariot with Finnick and have your picture taken. I wanted to do this (I desperately wanted Finnick to be my best friend then), but Gramps pulled me inside. I remember being surprised that we went right through the rowdy bar area and into the back room, where I spent two hours utterly bored, while Gramps was talking quietly to a bunch of rough-looking men at a table. An Avox came over to me for a little while, and I finally ended up spending the rest of the afternoon figuring out a system of signs to communicate.  
  
"Those were rebels, weren't they?" I ask.  
  
He nods. "The real deal, at least as far as the victors' rebellion is concerned. They passed Abernathy's poems around like scriptures."  
  
"Poems?"  
  
"Poems. That's how they identified each other." His eyebrows knit together. "Don't you look like it's crazy boy. Everything sounds crazy from a distance."  
  
"Okay. Are they, like, really good poems?"  
  
He shrugs. "As good as you could expect them to be from an angry, untrained sixteen year old." He looks out the side window. "We need to get out of here. Someone around here's going to notice that we don't belong in this car."  
  
"Gramps…"  
  
"Don't look for mockingjays. That's what Snow will use to lure people. Look for a brick -- "  
  
"A brick," I repeat. "Really?"  
  
" -- with a straw and a twig crossed on it. It's a story Abernathy told during his Games. They love using him as a symbol. That was… after he found the forcefield -- and this has never been public knowledge; I just know because I was tanked for a few weeks at the time -- the debtors rushed the prison forcefields. A lot of them ended up rebels after the crackdown." He sighs. "And here…" He takes my hand, pulls out a pen, and makes a long series of slash marks across my palm. "Show that." I must look skeptical, because he says, "I'm not scamming you, Aurrie. I want you to get under their protection as fast as you can, because you're already on the government's radar."  
  
"Aren't you going, too?"  
  
"I'll be fighting, but I'm going in close first. I don't want you around if I get pinched." He nods to himself. "If I get away with it, I'll go underground. So…" He looks at me for a minute, then looks away. "So I guess this could be it. We'll have a good day."  
  
The last is an order. I know the tone.  
  
We get out of the car and try to look at home in the posh neighborhood as we walk back toward the city. A few people give us dirty looks, but it's not _technically_ against the law for us to walk around up here in their rarified air, at least not yet. I want to get back to Tazzy and Junie. I have no idea where they've hidden, or how they're dealing with all of this. But I can't very well just say, "Thanks for picking me up" and leave Gramps standing alone on the sidewalk.  
  
As we walk, we talk about things other than the war, and in that matter, we're no different from anyone else on the street. I hear a lot of people talking business and fashion as we pass by them. We talk about movies and sports (other than the Hunger Games, of course), and he asks after my friends, whose names he barely remembers. It's after four when we finally get to The Hole, a cheap little greasy spoon diner that we both like. One of the waitresses, whose hair is dyed black (it looks like she very recently hacked a braid off at the base), is in the back corner, crying quietly while one of the others tries to get her to calm down. A third one is distracted while she seats us and takes our orders.  
  
"Is there a lot of that crying?" I ask quietly, thinking about the real hairdresser whose place I took, and his debilitating "ennui."  
  
Gramps nods. "Ever since the arena blew. No one knows what to make of it. They feel pretty betrayed by the Everdeen girl."  
  
"And Peeta?"  
  
"They're saying that young Mr. Mellark didn't know anything about it. He was taken in for his own protection." He gives me a sharp look, and I know not to push for details. I don't really need them. People taken in by Snow's forces aren't exactly being protected, and I don't know anyone who thinks they are.  
  
Then I remember that Peeta Mellark is my cousin, and I'm suddenly not hungry, no matter how long it's been since I've eaten.  
  
"Have anything you want," Gramps says. "I'm good for it."  
  
I order a burger and fries. He gets ham and pea soup. Once I start eating, my body reminds me that it does need nourishment. We talk about racecar drivers, and he interrogates me about my mostly non-existent love life. It's nothing important. I think he just wants to know.  
  
We stay until the dinner crowd starts coming in, and we walk out into the summer night. As the sun goes down, the change in the city is more apparent. The clubs are open, but there is no pounding music coming from them. There are drunks in the street, but they aren't coming from boisterous parties; they're sullen and withdrawn. The Capitol is never silent, but it's as close as I've ever seen it. I see a few of the regular prostitutes, but Tazzy isn't with them. They don't look like business has been good, and a few of them seem to have been in recent fights. One girl, who's wearing a dress with a hastily covered-up flame pattern, is sitting on the curb with her head resting listlessly on her bony knees.  
  
We finally stop at City Center, where there is still bunting up from the parade last week, though the pictures of the victors have been torn down. Gramps looks up at the blank spot where the District Twelve pictures were. "I sponsored them last year."  
  
"Because of your daughter."  
  
"Yeah. A few people asked me why." He turns and grins. "Trust me; I lied."  
  
I smile. From anyone but Gramps, that would be an odd thing to hear. "This is it, then?"  
  
He nods. "I'm not going to say where I'm going, and don't you dare tell me where you are. We'll find each other again when it's over."  
  
"We always do," I say.  
  
I start to leave, but Gramps puts his arms around me and hugs me tightly, like I'm eight instead of eighteen. "You're a good boy, Aurrie," he says. "You always were, and you always deserved better than me. I gave you my best, but my best is crap."  
  
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to this. We both know that as a guardian, he was abysmal. But unlike a lot of my friends, I never felt unloved. There was that, at least. So what I finally say is, "I love you, too, Gramps."  
  
He pulls away from me and pats my shoulder, then disappears into the shadows of the park, going off toward the media district, where he'll no doubt find the "marks" he was talking about.  
  
I turn and head out into the Capitol, not knowing where I'll end up.

 

**The End**


End file.
